#literally could not have done it without you

[consultingfujoshi]

having some barely formed thoughts about the three severed women we know of (excluding o&d) and how they're all sort of experiencing their own misogynist hellscape and how severance not only exacerbates the existing struggles of women but reduces those women down to nothing but their suffering

gabby's innie exists purely to gestate and give birth to children and then is switched off again and never gets to raise or even meet her child until her husband decides it's time for the next one. episode 7 suggests gabby is not the only woman who has done this to herself. how many female innies exist just to be a walking baby incubator?

gemma is quite literally in hell. dozens of versions of her are being subjected to physical or psychological torture at the hands of the same white guy, at least one of which is in an endless performance of housewifery, her body given over to the hands of strangers, and she has to willingly walk into each room knowing anything could be happening to her in there and she will never know what, only that her alternate selves have literally never known anything except suffering. you did it to yourself, you asked for this.

and even when she tries to free herself she is immediately sent back by one of these innies who literally does not know what is going on and why she's here, and doesn’t know enough to question what she's being told. these women she becomes do not have the tools, the knowledge or agency, to fight back. if you'd known better, you'd have stopped it. why didn't you stop it? why weren't you smarter about it? why weren't you more careful?

tell me you love me before you go, sweetheart

and helly. she's more complicated but there's really something to be said about helena, a woman that by all accounts should see her as a sister, and uses that very idea to propagandise herself and inflate her own status, but in reality does not even see helly as human - she is constantly at the mercy of a woman far more affluent and powerful than herself who feigns care for her to the masses whilst happily subjecting her to torture. and then without that support from another woman, without that sense of solidarity, she seeks refuge in the arms of a man who can somewhat understand what she's going through because that feels like her only option, to gain approval or social standing through a man, but even that is hollow and it is soured by the very woman she is at the mercy of competing with her for that same man. she has been forced to place all her bets on the love of a man, like that'll prove she's real and worth something, and even that she can't have for herself

severance is used in all of these cases as a means of further dehumanising, objectifying, and reducing women down to their base biological functions and forces them to subject themselves to the whims of men. all in totally unique ways but all very real experiences that women go through every day, crytallised by having it quite literally be all they exist for. severance as just another tool to exert violence upon women

[lilianalovespink]

Your lungs burn.

Your skin does too.

Sweat soaked clothes cling to your skin, cotton made heavy by the sheer amount of it that you've let off in the last hour of training.

But most importantly, there's a lump in your throat that aches worse than any cough ever could've- feeling like that time you had tonsillitis as a child.

"'ny more wisdom or are you done, private?"

If you cry now, he'll be kind; understanding. He always is, but that's the problem.

"I'm done captain."

~

'Unable to follow orders without questions, unable to integrate into the team.'

Sincerely and with your entire heart, you wish only the worst upon John Price. You could follow orders, you could work with them- if they let you.

A discomfort of needle like nature pulls through your muscles at that thought, considering that you had in fact voiced it and that the consequence had been the training you usually do over the course of three hours having to get done within an hour, no breaks, no warmups.

The worst part, you thought as you stepped out of the showers, is that in his view, he didn't hate you but rather...think you incompetent; a cocky amateur with too much of their chest puffed out.

You, a little child, a toddler acting rebellious or throwing a tantrum, and him, the sensible adult, strict but 'caring'.

"Shh, I know. This is too much for you. I know."

Leave it to him to make comfort a painful act; one for you to be belittled during, made out to be just another stupid teen in over their head.

Yes, you were younger than your commander, your captain, but no younger than your lieutenant or seargant.

Just not at their rank.

Your transfer to the 141 was abrupt, but by no means unwelcome. You were the best in your recruitment class, you were capable but as price, at the time you thought jokingly, put it, you weren't 'broken in'.

And boy did he have every intention of breaking you.

Training was tough, but doable except-

"You were top of your class? Again."

"There's a reason you're still a private."

"If you can't manage, leave."

And then, whenever you snap at him, show teeth at the hand that constantly strikes you, he's a saint. He's really just putting you what everyone else is going through, why are you this upset? Clearly because you're immature.

If you can hold back your urge to bite bite bite- this man, if you try to ask him stuff it's really a coin flip of what version of Captain John Price you'll get.

"You can't handle it? That's okay. It's okay, hey- no crying. Come here...yeah, that's a good girl."

Or, in case you didn't crawl between his legs like a scared puppy-

"I'm only being hard on you because I thought you wanted to be better. Was I wrong about that? Or do you want to be something other than a private one day?"

The worst part is that, the team seems to see you as a puppy as well- with you literally getting that as a monicker.

Lt. Riley wasn't as cold and mysterious as you expected when you first saw the mask, but he certainly wasn't hellbent on letting you be his buddy, let alone his comrade. He never helped you out unless you asked, but, should you make that mistake, to ask for help, he'll nod and simply guide you aside like you're a sheep and he's your shepherd. Like teaching you wasn't literally his job.

Sgt. MacTavish as well as Sgt. Garrick had initially been warm and inviting, had made you feel like this was your team- until you noticed how they'd leave you out whenever they could. Sure, neither of them were rude but- they weren't proper teammates either.

And then, of course, Captain Price.

What should you say about this man? How horrible he is? Would that do what he's put you through any justice?

As if this alienation from the people you literally had to trust with your life wasn't bad enough, the way they seemed to pity you was worse. Like you were a small child who dropped your candy.

It hurt, badly.

So when Commander Philipp Graves joined for a mission in Los Alamos and was the only one who treated you like you were on one level?

Yeah, you took the bait.

[sogoodtoheritsvicious]

standing in the light of your halo, i got my angel now

summary: dating after harry surprising you at your show gave you the final push you needed, you two go public and quickly find out you weren’t as subtle as you thought. later, a wild lando appears.

vicious speaks: we’re finally here!! this is nothing but pure fluff for these babies 💗

series masterlist

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yourusername has added to their stories

replies

oscarpiastri y’all are so cute it makes me sick

⤷ yourusername you love us

oscarpiastri unfortunately 😕

fan1 day 56893 of asking ya’ll to post a selfie together

fan2 flower boyyy 💐

yourbff we love to see you being treated the way you deserve!!

ynharrysthird MY LOVES

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harrystyles has added to their stories

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fan1 ohhh to be on a beach paint date with yn

fan2 don’t be shy, post a pic of you kissing

alexandrasaintmleux 💓🥹💓

fan3 you being active and posting personal pics is still something i’m not used to 😵‍💫

fan4 you in your bf era is such a serve

ynharrysthird i’m being soooo normal about this i promise (lie)

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liked by harrystyles, gemmastyles, and others

yourusername first vday with u 🌷

tagged harrystyles

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harrystyles first of many 💗

⤷ yourusername 💕

⤷ fan1 I CAN’T HANDLE ALL THIS CUTENESS

fan2 *pretends to be shocked*

⤷ fan3 we definitely had no idea you guys were together

⤷ fan4 yeah this is such a surprise

⤷ harrystyles alright 😂

⤷ lilymhe clocked 😭

yourbff 💞💞💞 ♥︎ by author

mclaren our favorite couple 🥰

⤷ yourusername our favorite admin 💘

⤷ fan5 admin making it known yn’s still a mclaren girlie

⤷ mclaren always!

⤷ yourusername it’s a for life thing!!

⤷ fan6 stop, yn saying being a mclaren girlie is a for life thing is gonna make me cry 🥹

annetwist so cute! 💓

⤷ yourusername 🥰

⤷ ynharrysthird gem being in the likes and anne being in the comments is so personal to me 🥹

fan7 ADOPT ME

carlossainz55 he’s making everyone else look like bad boyfriends

⤷ carlossainz55 not me, though

⤷ yourbff lmao nice save

⤷ carlossainz55 love you, querida

ynharrysthird HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY 💕

⤷ yourusername HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY 🫶🏼

⤷ ynharrysthird OHMYGOD

⤷ fan8 how ya doing, buddy?

⤷ ynharrysthird NOT WELL

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oscarpiastri has added to their stories

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fan1 thank u oscar for providing us with adorable ynharry content

yourusername omg i completely forgot you were here!!

⤷ oscarpiastri i could tell

⤷ yourusername 😭

f1 understandable, they’re really cute

fan2 going from you saying lando didn’t deserve yn last year, to you posting a pic of her and harry being all lovey dovey, oh we have never been more up!!

fan3 does this post you mean you officially give them your blessing?

fan4 this ain’t it

carlossainz55 you will be missed, amigo 😔💔

fan5 aren’t you supposed to be landos bsf 🤨

ynharrysthird when i’m in a biggest ynharry supporter competition and oscar piastri is my opponent

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765,430 likes

landoupdates lando liked this tweet.

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fan1 dkfjgjd even you sound done with his shit 😭

⤷ landoupdates he doesn’t move for so long and once he does, it’s just to stir up old drama 😵‍💫 imagine how tired i am.

fan2 he needs to get over it, it’s been a year and HE’S THE ONE WHO CHEATED.

fan3 going this hard for lando is crazy, he isn’t gonna fuck you!

fan4 “that girl and her boyfriend” is crazy when it’s literally yn and harry styles

fan5 lando LOSER 🫵😂

fan6 the ratio has me crying

⤷ fan7 quotes are beating their ass 😭

fan8 he’s so desperate for attention, it’s sad

fan9 nah they’re right, oscar was a snake for that

fan10 lando you fumbled, move on bro

fan11 his audacity is astounding

francisca.cgomes she did NOT try to ruin landos life wtf HE tried to ruin his OWN life when he thought he could cheat without getting caught instead of making up his damn mind about who he wanted to be with

liked by lilymhe, yourbff, itsaria, alexandrasaintmleux, gemmastyles

fan13 all the wags, aria, and gemma coming to yns defense oh lando it’s so over for you

fan14 yeah lando’s definitely the problem

ynharrysthird mf GET A LIFE and leave these people alone lando

fan13 lando is currently in the “find out” phase of “fuck around and find out”

oscarpiastri if he were a real man he’d contact me instead of being a little bitch and liking tweets

⤷ fan14 WHOA

⤷ fan15 THE GIRLS ARE FIGHTINGGG

⤷ fan16 🕯️manifesting there’ll be cameras around if they throw hands 🕯️

⤷ fan17 i’ve got $100 on oscar winning

⤷ ynharrysthird i’ve got $200

⤷ carlossainz i’ve got $1000

⤷ fan18 your ass is always at the scene of the crime 😭

⤷ fan19 he’s just here to look pretty and be messy

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harrystyles yourusername met our third today

tagged ynharrysthird

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fan1 the caption fkgjfjdjdhs

ynharrysthird it was so lovely to meet you 💕 thank you again for taking time out of your day to have a conversation with me 🥰 ♥︎ by author

fan2 OMGGGG

yourusername WITHOUT ME?!?! just fell to my knees in a walmart

⤷ ynharrysthird omg 😭

⤷ yourusername i’ll meet you next time dw <3

⤷ fan3 WHEN IS IT MY TURN

yourbff omg the legend, the icon, the moment™️

⤷ ynharrysthird QUEEN

fan4 she’s been ur #1 supporter since day 1, this was def deserved

maxverstappen1 insane caption

fan5 lmao he’s so unbothered

⤷ fan6 he said “lando who?” 😭

fan7 ynharrysthird how does it feel to live my dream?

⤷ ynharrysthird pretty good, i’m not gonna lie

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liked by yourusername, carlossainz and others

yourbff lately 🤍

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carlossainz55 😘

⤷ yourbff 💋

fan1 just casually reminding us she’s dating one of ferrari’s hottest racers

yourusername missing you already 🥺

⤷ yourbff same ❤️‍🩹

fan2 not to be that person but the only other pic that’s in black & white is the one of yn…perhaps hinting at a paddock return?

⤷ fan3 omg DO NOT get my hopes up

⤷ fan4 God i hope so, i miss her race day looks

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taglist: @pansexualdarling @mx13sworld @willowpains @nebarious @daemyratwst @hi26loveie @angelluv16 @ggaslyp1 @kikiki81 @eugene-emt-roe @nichmeddar @callsignwidow @harryssunflower17 @lomlolivia @isinpfortvdmen @yourlocalstilinski-valdez @hshp98 @l0nelyhe4rts-club @roc-haze @this-is-tiny-mia @harryzcherry @theekyliepage @maudie-duan

[revilloutionaire]

All Might was literally suicidal and people dont talk about it enough.

How it must've felt to have to pass on the one source of his strength, for years that has kept him at the top, his sole source of not only livelihood but also his way of helping others? How he must've felt knowing that he could not be the pillar of peace as he had been for almost four decades, that he had to subject another young person to carry that weight. How he must've felt after Kamino, after losing that power for good, after the entire nation saw him at his weakest.

His talk with Aizawa about deciding to live for the next generation, absolutely broke my heart. He felt useless, in a way probably none of us could ever even grasp. Not even izuku could.

What does it mean to be the entire world's pillar in one moment, the strongest man alive, only to go powerless in the next? It's no wonder Toshinori considered ending his life after Kamino- He didn't even look the same. What other option would you have but to end it all there? When you go from the man everyone looks to for help, to a man who can't even take a punch and survive?

But the fact he chose to live speaks volumes of his strength. His willingness to carry on, and help his students and successor fight with whatever strength remained. He helped Izuku during his tenture as a vigilante, because All Might would've done the exact same thing. He packed those lunches. He chased after Izuku, trying to give him the same support he knew All Might would've needed if he was the same age as Izuku.

It's why he put on that suit and fought All For One, even if it meant stalling and not defeating.

Because All Might is beyond his quirk, the same way Izuku is. He has the heart of a true hero.

The reason Izuku probably managed to survive those eight years without an ability to fight alongside his class- was because All Might was likely there beside him, both of them sharing the loss of their power after being at the front of the field. And they both know the importance of sharing their strength, their true strength, with future generations.

It was the strength of their hearts that put All Might and Deku above the rest.

[nightplvmes]

movie night

caleb x fem!reader | nsfw, +18—explicit content, fingering | an : this is literally my first time ever writing anything explicit about... likes and reblogs are appreciated :)

She could feel Caleb's breath against her cheek, she had her gaze fixed on the movie but he had his gaze fixed on her. His fingers played with her panties, pretending that he was about to slide his fingers under the fabric and then rubbing over the fabric again making her gasp. "You're so wet for me," he murmured, kissing her cheek. She wanted to turn her face to kiss his lips but Caleb stopped her, grabbing her jaw and turning her face back to the movie. "Eyes on the movie," he ordered.

She didn't even know what was happening, she wasn't paying attention but when she opened her lips to protest, he slid his fingers under her panties making her heart stop. "Caleb," she moaned. His fingers became slick with her arousal. His fingertips teased her entrance causing her to buck her hips against his fingers.

"Desperate little thing," he taunted. His fingers finally slid up to circle her clit, making gentle circles. She tried to throw her head back but again he caught her jaw. "Eyes on the movie," he repeated. "It's our movie night, remember?" She gasped in despair. A few days ago she had joked to Caleb that they needed to do more things together. After a few minutes it didn't seem like a bad idea to have a weekly tradition. That's how movie thursday was born, but that specific day she had been so needy, she craved his touch and he had flatly refused, saying it was their movie night.

She finally ended her torture when his fingers slid inside her making her whimper. She didn't want to seem too desperate but to be honest she was, she needed him, not just his fingers. "Faster," she gasped. Caleb had two options, he could play with her some more or just give her what she wanted. He liked the way she begged for more and moaned his name, but he also liked the way she writhed in his arms as he was the one giving her pleasure. He complied, his fingers quickening their pace, the wet sounds of her arousal heard over the noise of the movie she wasn't even paying attention to.

Caleb didn't force her to return her gaze to the movie as she writhed in his arms and leaned her head on his chest. "I'm close–ah!" He knew it, he could feel her walls squeezing his fingers as if she didn't want to let go. She loved his long fingers, always reaching every sensitive spot inside her that made her whimper.

"Fuck," he growled. He grabbed her jaw again, turning her face towards him, not giving her time to say anything when he captured her lips in a needy kiss. She could feel his desperation as if he had been so long without her lips. The smacking of their mouths mixed with the wet sounds of his fingers on her.

"Caleb..." She whimpered and her breath caught. Her hips bucked once more before she came all over his fingers. A satisfied sound rumbled in Caleb's chest as he felt the way she squeezed his fingers.

"You look so pretty like this," he murmured leaving a kiss on her forehead. His fingers continued to move for a few seconds prolonging her orgasm until he felt her breathing calm down. "Are you okay?" She nodded, still not moving—she could feel the slight trembling of her thighs. "Fine, we're not done yet." She looked at him confused, but before she could protest he had lifted her in his arms and headed to the bedroom.

[ogwintersmind]

Kiss the chef ꨄ - w/katsuki

Katsuki is an amazing chef, after years of watching his mother cooking and baking in the kitchen, it’s only natural that he'd pick up on the habit.

As time wears on cooking would become one of his main love languages. He isn't too big on physical touch (or so he claims. he’s so clingy.) he's terrible at compliments and expressing his feelings without adding some witty comment, though he tries, it's safe to say words of affirmation isn't his main love language. but acts of service (specifically cooking/baking) he could do that.

Whether it be Japanese, American, Korean, Mexican, Italian, etc, this man can cook! And it's always the best food you've ever had. I mean so good your taste buds are literally dancing, celebrating and, thanking whatever food god there is for blessing them with these amazing flavors and spices.

He also hates when you ask to go out for fast food like McDonald's or wing stop, his answer is always "no, we have McDonald's at home.” while he proceeds to make you the best burger and fries you've ever had.

One day you're on break at work and start scrolling through TikTok to pass time. While scrolling you come across a video of a woman making home made chicken and waffles + cinnamon rolls from scratch (idk I saw a TikTok of both recently so that's on my mind.) and they looked so good!

You send the TikTok's to katsuki of course, like you always do.

— MSG

“Look how good this looks! She's eating like royalty and I'm stuck at work eating leftovers 💔.” - YOU

"It's cinnamon rolls, chicken and waffles ou how is that "royalty" idiot? - KATS

"And I made those left overs so have some respect would you.”

“I never said the leftovers were bad.“

“I'd just much rather have the royalty meal.”

“‘Royalty meal’ you're such an idiot, get back to work.”

“Fine. See you later I love you ❤️❤️”

“See you idiot.”

“Love you❤️.”

Obviously after this conversation he immediately goes to the kitchen and starts setting out the ingredients for the chicken and waffles + cinnamon rolls.

He gets the chicken breasts, cutting them up and pulling Off any extra fat. He mixes his seasonings together with the flour and makes the buttermilk. After this he coats the chicken In the flour, then the buttermilk, then back into the flour once more.

After frying all of the chicken he gets started on the waffles, once those are done he sets the chicken and waffles to the side and starts on the cinnamon rolls.

After all of the cooking is done he plates the chicken and waffles, topping the waffles with whipped cream and fruits, before drenching everything In syrup.

Just than the front door unlocks, and a moment later you come into the kitchen.

“You're 10 minuets late, idiot." katsuki says while walking over to you and placing a quick kiss to your forehead.

"Traffic.” you say while clearly more interested in the food on the counter.

“I made yer damn royalty meal or whatever. Taste it.”

You quickly grab the plate and dig In. And of course it's the best thing even!? Who knew chicken and waffles could taster a like a 10 ⭐️ meal. And you can taste the all of the love he cooked it with.

“This is so good i could literally cry.” you say while inhaling the food. Katsuki 1s just standing there shaking his head.

“It’s literally chicken and waffles you're so dramatic.” he secretly loves that you like the food so much, it makes him happy that he can express his love for you through this action instead of having to use his words, cause you know.. this guy stinks at communication.

“ I made the cinnamon rolls too. They're in the oven.” you push the plate a side, “Give them to me now! Pleaase.”

He rolls his eyes and gets the cinnamon rolls out from the oven and places them on the counter. He grabs a spatula and hands it to you and you immediately try to cute one of the cinnamon rolls out of the pan but he stops you. “Whattt??” You ask with an annoyed look on your face.

“Don’t give me that damn look, idiot. You know the rules. Eat the food, kiss the chef.” He says bluntly. He made this stupid rule up about 6 months in the relationship and now every time u eat aolwthunf he cooks he expects a kiss in return.

You let out a huff as if you’re annoyed but theres a large smile on your face. You lean up to kiss the idiot. “There. Now can I eat?”

You’re joking right..? He made you your royalty meal and you have the nerve to PECK his lips? He’s genuinely offended and his face says it all.

“That’s all I get?? Come ‘ere.” he grabs you by the waist and pulls you into a gentle tongue kiss. "Don't you ever disrespect me like that again, eat yer dam food, idiot."

THE END (cs I’m lazy)

Hi friends!

I haven't been posting because I have no ideas + no motivation... But I wanted to get something posted because inconsistency is not a good look.

I hope you enjoyed reading!

Thank you for reading!

Not proofread

(Commenting improvement tips are highly appreciated!)

(Commenting or sending messages for recommendations are highly appreciated as well! I check my notifications hourly and every day so please please do recommend! It’s very appreciated especially with my head space at the. Moment!!)

xo -winter 🪼🤍

[wizard-of-interesting-failure]

No you know what I'm gonna take a second here. [Highly unhinged rant at the fundamental injustice, inefficiency, and sheer bloody-minded stupidity of current social technology below the cut]

Absolute horse piss. God, even setting aside how she deserved better from everyone around her and had the same right to a fully accepted authentic life as everyone else, imagine what she could have done if she was supported instead of being treated like this. If she wasn't fired from her job, ejected from her support network, and didn't have to constantly advocate for herself and people like her to be treated like human beings (which was brave and good work worthy of being honored but should never have been necessary in the first place, like rescuing people from a building that collapsed because it was built like shit)

Like okay I don't talk about this that often but I'm a kidney transplant recipient and I think a lot about how the field (like every other avenue of human endeavour) has been crippled by short-sighted bigotry. STEM fields are still hugely male-dominated (sidebar STEM is not the be all and end all creatives y'all super valid and important and your work is foundational to the functioning of STEM and human endeavour and quality of life as a whole; this is just the example that highlights the point for me personally) and it's like. If we didn't push literally everyone except cishet white guys well off enough to afford tertiary education away from everything in the area, would I just have an artificial kidney by now? Who knows?? I'm probably never fucking going to because stupid nonsense.

It's the same shit. And don't get me wrong, the individual human tragedy of unnecessary hardships on the part of this (and every) trans woman (and so many other groups besides) is morally horrible and an indictment of culture as a whole. But we'd probably have fucking blade runner robots or quantum computers or working fusion reactors or Actual Cool AI Instead Of The Current Horseshit by this point! Or a real Mars colony instead of some blowhard yammering on about it while he inflicts suffering on untold millions! Or God knows what else!

And don't even get me started on lack of opportunity for almost everybody in the world. It's like that quote about all the potential einsteins who were born and died impoverished without ever even touching a science textbook.

Like you wanna know why we're struggling so much? Population increase is supposed to mean more hands and minds on every problem but it doesn't because...ugh! Imagine if we cared about global poverty. Imagine how many more lives free of hunger. Imagine how many more people thinking about how to solve everything that needs solving.

I just. The morality is bad enough. It's a great evil by itself. But the sheer fucking gall of dressing it up behind progress and hard decisions. Do you have any idea how much "progress" this costs us? What a good investment humanity would be if we pulled our heads out of our asses for two seconds? What you, personally, have lost because the person who would have given it to you lived and died in preventable despair?

Again, I have to emphasise. People are worthy without contributing huge individual achievements to the arc of history. Society is a collective and everything everyone does adds to the weave and adds up to what we as a whole achieve, there's no real separating out of "this person did this thing" when they were supported by the entire collective of humanity past and present, and even if there was achievement is not the sole benchmark by which life is measured. A better life for everyone is the point, and the idea of "if I don't think you're contributing then you don't deserve anything" is a big part of how we got here in the first place.

There is no culling of the "unproductive". They are the ones who need this most of all. Every life matters, every life (yes, even that one) is a roll of the dice for a miracle of insight (not just in STEM; it all fucking matters and it always has), every life is its own purpose, every life is worthy, to save one life is to save all of mankind, to enrich one life is to enrich all of mankind, to be a life that is enriched is to be enriched on behalf of all of mankind, and none of these facts depend upon any others. There's a mind in there! A self-perceiving miracle of reality! Of course it's precious beyond measure regardless of context, you dipshit!

We can celebrate great advances and exceptional performances without ignoring that we, as a whole, made these things possible too. And we can recognise that these things are valuable because of what they do for everyone, and that the more everyone there is the more valuable they are, and that in order for making life better for the worse off to matter the worse off themselves must matter, and that every life is worthy and every soul is sacred and the people using Lynn's technology to help with their disabilities or live hidden from those who wish them harm or resist the forces I'm talking about here are why the technology is a force for good in the first place.

But I weep for the fact that we have squandered almost all human potential across all of history in short-sighted power-seeking and arbitrary outgroup punishments, and everyone everywhere has suffered for it. Yes, even the stupid billionaires; they'd probably live longer if they hadn't stepped on the people who would have discovered the cure for whatever ends up killing them. Today's average well-off human knows riches that would be the envy of the kings of old, and the average human if none of this was a problem would know riches that would be the envy of the oligarchs of today.

Lives being lived in ways that diminish other lives are ideally changed minimally so that they no longer do (this is the maximisation of collective freedom) and consigned to any other fate only with great sorrow. Even if it is right to do so, I do not believe it is ever righteous. Even if it is not regrettable that it was done in the present, it is regrettable that the past produced a present that required it, and a future that does better should ever be sought.

Just...fucking stupid. That we're so willing impoverish ourselves so that some other people we don't like for no reason can be impoverished more. That the only thing keeping us from Star Trek (not just the spaceships but everything else too) is petty fucking spite (and physics but who knows what backdoor bullshit we could find to work around that).

That Lynn Conway's life, extraordinary and laudable as it was, was made smaller by this rank fucking idiocy. I do not aim to diminish her work by considering what it could have been. I aim to diminish the age she was forced to live in.

Rest in peace, Lynn. You deserved unfathomably, infinitely fucking better, and we are all richer for what you managed to pull off in spite of it all.

[sst4rdst]

can I request yan! Xiao fighting his urges to literally *eat* his darling because he loves them so much? Sorry cannibalism is just such a good metaphor for obsession

warnings : yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, implied kidnapping, cannibalism thoughts, xiao's karmic debt, force-feeding, xiao's getting progressively more deranged, long fic sorry (almost 5k words). author's note : ok anon ngl i think you unlocked smth in my brain that instantly made me spend my whole night writing this in one go 💀 but i agree! i think there's so much potential for yan xiao + his karmic debt, paired with his obsession and lack of experience with human relationships, like uuuuuuuugh i don't think i perfectly explained my thoughts here nor did i delve into things i wanted to, even though this one is huge 😭

the pain is getting worse.

it gnaws at the marrow of his bones, threads itself through every breath, coils around his ribs and squeezes. a weight, unbearable and inescapable. he knows this suffering like an old friend, but lately, it has been changing.

there is another hunger buried beneath the agony. one that does not belong to the stains of karmic debt, that cannot be blamed on the sins of his past. it is sharper. more unbearable. and it has a name. you.

he doesn’t know when it began. perhaps it was the first time you spoke his name without fear. or the first time your fingers brushed his wrist in passing, leaving warmth where he has only known cold. perhaps it was always there, waiting, lurking, festering beneath his skin like a sickness that only worsens with time.

he tells himself to stay away. he tells himself that this is dangerous. that you should not be near something like him—something broken, something cursed. but then night falls, and the pain becomes unbearable, and the only thing that soothes the madness clawing at his mind is the thought of you. so he watches.

at first, it was only from a distance. ensuring your safety, eliminating any threats before they could ever reach you. but soon, he found himself lingering, his body rooted in place even after the danger had passed. listening to the soft rhythm of your breath as you slept, tracing the shape of your silhouette through the blankets covering your body.

then came the dreams. the things his mind conjured in the quiet moments when he was weak. your voice, breathless against his ear. the warmth of your body caged beneath his own. the way you would say his name if he let himself have you, if he let himself take—

xiao wakes with his hand wrapped tight around his weapon, panting, aching, trembling with a need that is not his own. the weight of karmic debt should make him sick. should remind him that this is not something he is meant to have, that this is not something he deserves. and yet—he is growing greedy.

each time he sees you, it becomes harder to resist. the space between you is unbearable. he hates the mortals who take your attention, hates the way they steal your laughter, your smiles, your time. he hates that they can be close to you while he must remain in the shadows, watching, waiting, suffering. but he could change that. all he would have to do is take you, in every way possible.

it is an intrusive thought, one that should repulse him, one that should make him recoil in horror. but it doesn’t. it settles in his chest, makes a home in his mind, whispers to him when he watches you from the rooftop of wangshu inn. it is not fear that curls in his gut when he thinks of you in his arms. it is something else. something darker. his hands flex at his sides, aching to touch.

would you scream if he took you? would you hate him? or would you understand that this is the only way? that he has spent too long suffering, too long resisting? that he cannot fight this anymore?

his vision pulses at the thought, and something inside him snaps. the pain of his karmic debt no longer matters. the only thing that matters is you. and xiao is done waiting.

tonight, he is weaker than before. his self-control frays, unraveling thread by thread. the karmic debt surges, blackening his vision, poisoning his thoughts, and suddenly, standing outside is not enough. he needs to be closer. needs to see you, feel you, know that you are real beneath his hands.

he moves before he can stop himself.

the window slides open without a sound. he slips inside, barely more than a shadow in the dark. the room is filled with your scent—warm, comforting, intoxicating. his head spins. he shouldn’t be here. he shouldn’t—his knees press against the edge of your bed.

you shift slightly in your sleep, your face peaceful, oblivious. he clenches his fists. he should leave. he should go before he does something unforgivable.

but then you sigh, so calm, so softly, so clueless of the man so close to you. he cannot take this anymore. his fingers brush against your skin, trembling. you are so warm, so fragile. he could break you so easily. but he won’t. he would never. he only wants to keep you safe. he only wants to keep you his.

when you wake, it is not in your bed. the room is unfamiliar—dimly lit, silent save for the soft rustle of fabric. the air smells of incense, of something old and unchanging. your limbs feel heavy, mind sluggish as reality settles in. you are not alone.

a figure sits in the corner, watching. gold eyes gleam in the low light, unblinking, unreadable. but you know who they belong to. xiao.

your breath catches. your pulse pounds against your ribs, but he does not move. he only watches, his expression unreadable, his gaze heavy with something dark, something you cannot name. “where—” your voice cracks. you swallow hard, trying again. “where am i?”

xiao exhales, slow and measured. “safe.”

you push yourself upright, the sheets slipping from your shoulders, and his gaze flickers—lower, then back to your face. his fingers twitch against his thighs. there is something restrained about him, something barely held back.

“this isn’t—” you shake your head, fear creeping into your voice. “xiao, i need to go home.”

his jaw tightens. the silence stretches, suffocating. then, finally, he speaks. “you are home.”

his words settle over you like a cage. you do not understand the depths of his obsession. not yet. but you will. you have always belonged to him.

the today turned into tomorrow, and tomorrow turned into an endless amount of time. the sky never changes, the silence stretching endlessly. you do not know how long you’ve been trapped in xiao’s adeptal realm—only that the outside world has long since faded into something distant, something unreachable.

although, ever since your first time here, your ‘relationship’ with xiao hasn’t improved that much. if anything, it festers. a good thing for you, a nightmare for xiao. he does not speak much, does not touch you, save the times he made you eat something—you tried one time not to eat for a whole day, but it just ended with him shoving the spoon with food inside your mouth—or when you need to go to the bathroom, these are the only times he allows himself close to you.

lately, something has changed. his restraint is fraying, his control slipping in ways he cannot seem to stop. you first noticed it when he started lingering too long, his eyes darker, the space between you shrinking. and then, the baths began.

he does not look at you when he lowers himself into the water, his movements precise, controlled—painfully so. his skin is flushed, his breath slow and deliberate. his hands remain at his sides, as if holding himself back takes every ounce of his strength. he has not touched you. not yet.

but you can feel it. the way his restraint wavers, the way his hunger coils beneath the surface. it is only a matter of time.

the water ripples around him, faint waves licking against his skin, but his focus is elsewhere.

your bare shoulders glisten under the soft light, droplets tracing slow, winding paths down your skin. he does not look, but he feels it—feels your warmth in the space between you, in the air thick with steam and something unspoken, something dangerous.

this is wrong. and yet, he does not move away.

you shift, stretching out your legs, and the movement sends a ripple through the water, lapping against his arms. xiao inhales sharply, his muscles coiling so tightly it hurts. his nails bite into his palms.

his gaze secretly roamed your form, almost unnoticeable, except that you could feel the weight of his eyes. xiao notices the beauty marks and moles you have splattered on your body, memorizes every curve, and how soft your skin looks.

there is no explanation that does not expose the sickness festering inside him, the unbearable hunger clawing at his control, poisoning his thoughts with something possessive, something selfish.

softly, so softly it nearly drowns beneath the lapping water—you murmur, “are you going to hurt me?”

a sharp exhale. his head snaps up, gold eyes burning into yours, something dark and unreadable churning beneath the surface. his throat tightens. hurt you?

the thought alone is enough to twist his stomach, to make his grip on reality splinter at the edges. he could never. he would sooner rip himself apart than let harm come to you. and yet—his restraint is breaking.

he has been careful, has done everything in his power to keep his distance, to silence the thoughts that make him weak, the desires that make him unbearable. but every day, it gets harder. every second spent in your presence tightens the noose around his throat, suffocating, inescapable.

it should not be like this. you should not be here. but you are. and he is unraveling.

“no.” the word is hoarse, choked, ripped from his throat like it pains him. he swallows hard, shaking his head. “never.”

your gaze lingers on him, cautious, unreadable. he can see it—the war waging in your mind, the uncertainty, the way your body remains tense despite his answer. it wounds him more than it should. but more, because deep down, he knew he would, it was just a matter of time. he does not know how to fix this, how to fix him.

but he knows one thing. he cannot let you go. not when he has already come this far. not when the thought of losing you feels like something far worse than death.

lately, xiao has been feeling strange. his karmic debt has never been this bad, but the way he craves you—physically, carnally—has deeply worst. being close is not enough, touching you is not enough, he needs to crawl under your skin, needs to turn into an amalgamate with you, know how every muscle of your body is, how the pressure of your blood feels, how strong it is, and worst of all—how you taste.

he doesn’t know why, it just feels right. he wants you, of course he wants you, but maybe he’s wanting in ways that are not usual. but he doesn’t want to hurt you, he would never forgive himself, and yet, forgiveness has never been meant for him.

xiao's fingers twitch at his sides, his breath barely steady, shallow, like something inside him is fracturing at the seams. you sit across from him, your back turned, your shoulders drawn in. your perfectly shaped shoulders, the trapezius and deltoid contouring it, with the fat placed just right. 

if he bites you there, would you punch him? how would you scream? how loud would you scream? and if he bites you hard enough to bleed, how much blood would you lose?

of course, a bite wouldn’t kill you from hemorrhage, xiao’s aware of that, but the thought of biting you, and tasting the droplets of blood that eventually would leak off it, the unmistakable metallic taste, how good is it? maybe, just maybe, would it be sweetly metallic? or the usual bitterness? he thinks you’re oh so sweet, even your blood might be sweetened.

he shakes his head, placing a had on it. he should leave. he should force himself to step out, to put space between you before he does something unforgivable.

but he doesn't. he stays, barely breathing, barely thinking cohesive—only feeling. his skin burns, his throat dry, his restraint a fragile, splintering thing that no longer listens to reason. he wants. he wants too much.

his fingers curl against his palms, nails biting into flesh, but the pain does nothing to ground him. not when the scenarios in his head cloud his senses, thick and dizzying, not when his mind is drowning in images of how you would feel, how you would sound, how you would break beneath him—

he exhales, ragged, sharp, almost pained. you stiffen. he sees it, even without looking. you do not turn around, do not speak. but your body betrays you. you know somethings off with him.

xiao has fought monsters for centuries, has slaughtered creatures beyond mortal comprehension, yet nothing—nothing—has ever terrified him as much as this.

this hunger. this sickness. this unbearable, wretched need that festers inside him, rotting him from the inside out. he cannot let it consume him. not when you are here.

not when the line between protection and destruction is already so blurred, so close to breaking.

but you turn to face him, lips parted, eyes wary, trying to scan his true intentions, the rotten portrayals of his sins inside his brain.

“xiao.” your voice is quiet, uncertain. but your gaze does not waver. “what’s wrong with you?”

everything. everything is wrong. and for the first time in his life, he is powerless to stop it. he wants to touch you. he wants to devour you, in every way the word means.

his hand slowly reaches in your direction, but it stops.

suspended. trembling. the space between you is unbearably small, a breath away from something irreversible. his fingers hover near yours, uncertain, unwilling—afraid. you don’t move. you don’t pull back. you don’t flinch, even as something in xiao’s expression twists into something ugly, something not meant for the daylight.

why aren’t you afraid?

his stomach coils at the thought, sick and tight. does he want you to fear him? no. no, he doesn’t. he is meant to protect you, to keep you safe. but then, why does it feel like he’s standing at the edge of a precipice, waiting for you to fall? why does he feel like a predator, waiting—starving—for him to come closer to you? the thought alone should be enough to disgust him, to send him fleeing, but it doesn’t. it only makes his fingers twitch, makes his breathing turn shallow and sharp, makes him crave something deeper, something worse.

his hand moves before he can stop it, the backs of his knuckles grazing against the soft flesh of your skin, the smallest, most insignificant touch—yet it feels like it burns, feels like it will tear him apart. his entire body is wound too tight, his restraint splintering under its own weight. he should pull away. he should force himself to turn, leave, run. but he fails at it, his desires speaking louder than the logic.

his hand wanders a little to the side, his thumb brushing your lips, your perfectly sculptured lips. it’s nothing, just a touch, just the briefest contact, but it is everything to him.

his breath came out in ragged, uneven gasps. his mind is reeling, his thoughts tangled, torn between two opposing forces—stay, leave, take, run, devour, protect. the contradiction rips him apart, and his body screams at him for retreating, for moving away from you when every fiber of his being is telling him to close the space, to pull instead of push, to take instead of deny.

"xiao—"

your voice is soft, uncertain, laced with something that makes his stomach twist tighter. it’s concern. you are concerned for him. you shouldn’t be.

his head jerks up, his breath heaving, his entire frame coiled with tension. he knows what he must look like—wild, frenzied, something barely holding itself together. but still, you do not back away. you do not cower. is it because you’re scared? or you are trying to understand him?

understanding. yes, of course you are trying to understand him. you’ve been together for so long, of course you would be wanting to get to know him someday! the realization makes something in xiao snap.

his entire body is trembling, he can hear his own heartbeat—loud, deafening, hammering against his ribs like it wants to break free. and here you are. close. unmoving. searching his face for answers he doesn’t have the strength to give.

your fingers curl slightly at your sides, your lips part as if to say something, but no words come out. you’re watching him, observing him, waiting for him, and he doesn’t understand why. don’t you see what he is? don’t you understand what he could do to you?

his teeth clench. he can taste copper on his tongue—his own blood, from where he must have bitten too hard. but it isn’t enough. the pain isn’t enough. nothing is enough.

you shift your weight, adjusting your stance ever so slightly, and it takes every ounce of strength in xiao’s body to not react. his entire body is taut, stiff, coiled with a tension that has nowhere to go.

his breathing is erratic, his vision sharp, focused on you—your throat, your wrists, the way the pulse flutters just beneath your skin. his mind is a mess of static, of conflicting impulses, of thoughts he does not want to acknowledge, but cannot suppress.

he needs to leave. he needs to leave.

his body moves before his mind catches up. a blur of motion—sudden, forceful, instinct-driven. he is there in an instant, too fast for you to react, too overwhelming to resist. one hand grips your shoulder, the other pressing against the small of your back, pinning you in place.

a startled gasp escapes you, sharp and quick, but it’s lost beneath the sound of his own breathing, ragged and uneven against your ear. he doesn’t know what he’s doing. he doesn’t care what he’s doing.

you are close. too close. and yet, it isn’t close enough.

his lips ghost over your shoulder, breath searing hot against your skin. he can feel the rapid rise and fall of your chest, the way your body tenses under his touch. but you don’t fight him. you don’t struggle, maybe out of fear, but to xiao’s own sake, to him is because you accept him—just like he accepts you. and that is what dooms you both.

his jaw tightens, his grip turning almost bruising, and before he can stop himself—he bites.

his teeth sink into flesh, sharp and unrelenting, breaking through skin with a force that is too much, too deep, too wrong. he tastes it instantly—warm, metallic, unmistakably you. and gods—

his body seizes, a shudder rolling through him so intense it nearly forces him to his knees. his mind is blank, lost in the sensation, drowning in it. the taste of you, the way you scream, the way you tremble against him—it is intoxicating, overwhelming, unbearable.

you jerk in his grasp, a sharp inhale cutting through the air. he should stop. he knows that. but he doesn’t. his grip tightens, holding you firm, and he bites down harder—not enough to maim, but enough to hurt. enough to leave a mark. enough to the blood coming out of it to feed his fantasies.

your name leaves his lips in a breathless, wrecked sound, half a whisper, half a growl. his tongue swipes over the broken skin, over the crimson staining your shoulder, and the taste alone makes his head swim, his senses spiral, his restraint—his fragile, delicate restraint—crumble into dust.

he does not move away. he does not apologize. he cannot. because for the first time in his existence, xiao feels alive.

your shoulders bear the evidence of him now—biting scars, faint but unmistakable, the imprint of desperation and indulgence carved into your skin.

he doesn’t do it often, doesn’t let himself, doesn’t trust himself to have that kind of control. but there are nights when the weight of his karmic debt is suffocating, pressing down on him so violently that even you can feel it, a phantom ache that coils around your chest like chains, constricting, unyielding.

those are the nights when he clings to you, trembling hands gripping your arms, his breathing erratic against the crook of your neck, his body a raw, frenzied thing barely holding itself together. and those are the nights when you already know—when you steel yourself for the inevitable, when you brace for the sting of his teeth sinking into your flesh, a sharp, burning pressure that lingers for days, the kind of pain that dulls into something bittersweet.

you don’t stop him. you never do. because no matter how deep he bites, no matter how his lips tremble against your skin before he pulls away, looking utterly wrecked in the aftermath, you’re still afraid, especially now. he doesn’t look sane enough to even dare try to stop him, scared of how he might react.

he always looks the same when he gazes at you afterward—eyes wide, glassy with guilt, hands hesitant as if he has no right to touch you anymore—when he whispers i’m sorry in a voice so fragile you barely hear it, you realize, not for the first time, that xiao’s pain has never been his alone to bear.

it used to be enough—the fleeting touches, the stolen bites, the taste of your skin lingering on his tongue, copper-tinged and searing. but lately, it is no longer enough. nothing is enough. xiao has always been ruled by hunger, by suffering, by the insurmountable weight of his karmic debt pressing into him like a blade to the throat. he was prepared for a lifetime of torment, for an existence of nothing but pain. but this is something different. this is not suffering. it is yearning. and it is unbearable.

it’s not as simple as ‘go, take a bite, taste the blood, and leave’ anymore, it’s more profound, more fleshlily. the curiosity about what’s inside your body getting worse, just like his obsession with you.

with how perfect you are to him, would your organs hold up to it? or something simpler: how would your skin layers be? he doesn’t question himself these questions because he’s a crazy person, no, he just loves you oh so much that he wants, needs, to know every inch of your body—from the top of your toes to the last hair strand, from the inside to the outside, from the start of his breath to the last of his sigh.

xiao knows this is wrong. he knows the way his thoughts twist and turn, the way his desires coil into something sickly and insatiable, is not normal. not human. but then again, he has never been human, never been meant for something as soft as love, as indulgent as touch. and yet, you have carved a space for yourself inside him, an intrusion so profound that his very being has begun to warp around it, around you.

he watches you when you sleep. he is not proud of it, but shame has long lost its meaning in the face of his obsession. you are so still, so peaceful, oblivious to the way he hovers over you, gaze tracing the slope of your shoulders, the soft rise and fall of your chest. he has memorized you from the outside—every curve, every scar, every place he has touched and marked. but it is not enough. he wants to know more. he needs to. the thought slithers through him like a curse, quiet but insistent, embedding itself in the marrow of his bones.

how deep does your warmth go? how much of your flesh would yield under his hands? would the softness give way to something firmer beneath? muscle? tendon? bone? would the color of your insides be as beautiful as your exterior? would your heart stutter beneath his palm if he pressed down, if he held you too tight, if he—

his fingers twitch at the thought, and he forces himself to take a breath, sharp and uneven. no. he cannot think like this. he cannot. he has spent centuries fighting the urge to destroy, to ravage, to tear things apart before they can be torn from him. you are not his to ruin. and yet, even as he tells himself this, his gaze remains fixed on you.

you shift slightly in your sleep, the movement small, unconscious. your head tilts just enough to expose more of your shoulder, the same shoulder that bears the scars of his previous indulgences, the ghost of his teeth still faintly visible even now. his breath hitches. he shouldn’t. he knows he shouldn’t. but when has he ever been able to resist you?

before he even realizes he’s moving, his lips are against your skin, barely a whisper of contact. he tells himself it is just this—just a touch, just a stolen moment, just something to take the edge off the insatiable hunger gnawing at his insides. but it is never just this. his mouth parts, his breath shaky as he presses a kiss against the mark he left last time, against the proof of his weakness. and then—before reason can stop him, before guilt can drag him away—his teeth sink in.

your body jerks instantly, a sharp inhale escaping you, but his hands are already on you, one curling around your wrist, the other pressing against your waist, keeping you still. the taste of you floods his senses, metallic and searing, the warmth of your blood pooling against his tongue. the sensation is dizzying, heady, makes his fingers tighten against your skin, makes his nails dig in a little too hard, makes his body tremble with something he cannot name.

are there any remains of your skin cells in his teeth now?

you whimper. the sound spears through him like a blade, striking something raw and vulnerable, and he pulls away as if burned. his lips part from your skin, and the sight of it—the fresh imprint of his teeth, the way your blood beads at the edges—destroys him. his chest heaves, his vision blurs, and the moment the realization of what he’s done settles in, he wants to vanish. to disappear into the night, to never face the horror in your eyes when you fully wake and understand.

but he cannot move. his body betrays him, keeps him frozen, his fingers still pressed against you, as if some part of him believes he can mend what he has broken just by holding on. and then—just as he knew it would—you stir, your breath uneven, your voice barely above a whisper.

“xiao…?”

it is his undoing, all of this is his undoing. the strength in his fingers bleeds away, as if drained by the weight of his own guilt, leaving nothing but the fragile tremor in his hands as he pulls back. he cannot bring himself to move any farther. his body feels heavy, leaden, as if bound by invisible chains, and the only thing he can do is lower himself onto the edge of your bed, hands braced against his knees, head bowed, shoulders drawn tight with the unbearable pressure of what he has done.

"leave the bedroom." it comes out hoarse, barely above a whisper. his own body betrays him, his entire form leaning forward despite his own command, as if something deep inside him is begging—please, don’t leave, don’t hate me.

but you must. if you don’t, if you linger even a second longer, if you keep looking at him like that, he will do something unforgivable.

he clenches his fists so tightly his nails bite into his palms, but the pain does nothing to ground him. if he speaks, the words will come out wrong. they will come out hungry. they will come out like the sickness that festers inside him, rotting, spreading, unstoppable.

your brows knit together, lips parting, hesitation evident on your face. but then, you nod. and you step away.

xiao does not move. his body remains frozen in place, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths as he watches you turn toward the door. every step you take feels like a hammer to his skull, like a blade to his gut, a part of him screaming at him to stop you, pull you back, keep you here where you belong—

but he cannot. this is what must happen. this is what is truly safe. the moment the door clicks shut behind you, xiao collapses to his knees.

his breath comes out in sharp, ragged gasps, his hands trembling where they dig into the wooden floor, nails cracking the surface. his body is shaking, his thoughts are a frenzy, a whirlwind of too much, too close, too dangerous. his throat is raw, his skin fever-hot, the hunger inside him gnawing at his ribs, carving into his bones. he is not himself. he is something else, something worse.

you are gone. you are safe. and yet—still, he wants to chase you. he wants to indulge in his wishes, but he’s too afraid. too afraid that his worst nightmare would turn into reality—you would be hurt and he would be the reason.

[that-hippie-user]

Without hypnosis, how would you encourage someone to become a diaper-addicted bedwetter? What’s the best argument you could make to win them over?

i'd like to answer this in the form of a ramble. no hypnosis, no traps, no triggers. literally just a lesson from me to you. click below if you're curious.

some folks describe the world we're in as one that tries to fit you into a mold, to shape you a desired way.

but a mold is a very simple process, pour liquid substance into a vessel with the desired shape, let it solidify, and its done. taking an otherwise shapeless thing and giving it shape in a very easy way.

life is not a mold, but an extruder.

a length of meterial is sent down a tube, which itself gradually shifts from the original shape, to the desired one.

the process is gradual, the material shapes itself almost as if it were meant to, but it's being guided to that shape by the tunnel its in.

you werent given a role from the start and made to fit it, you were gradually acclimated to that role until it became normal.

its the small things. being corrected on how you sit, or how loud your voice is, or telling you to stop tapping your feet, or saying particular interests dont fit your role.

i used to naturally cross my legs, i had an interest in pink, i loved made for dvd cartoons like strawberry shortcake or tinker bell. turned out i was transgender, and the role of "boy" was one i was shaped to be through peer pressure.

now, what does this have to do with diapees?

put simply, you NEVER had a say in potty training.

kids often have no say in a lot of things, its taken for granted that a kid needs guidance if they're gonna be safe in this world. but potty training is a universal lesson.

how did YOU react at the time? to being told you have to "graduate" from diapers. were you agreeable? upset? did you try to rebel? it doesnt matter, all roads lead to you being potty trained.

its so deeply ingrained in our society its practically a core foundation. think about this for a moment, KINDNESS is not mandatory. sure, as a kid you're taught to share and care, but how many people do you know who carried that into adulthood? in fact, in a capitalist sense, kindness is a weakness to the goal of profit.

so, we live in a world where you CANNOT under ANY circumstance choose to be diapered, unless you "need" to, like, if there is no alternative. and yet you can live life as the biggest jerk in history and you're not even guaranteed a reprimand for it.

and yet... everyone ALSO agrees that being a kid is the best thing in the world, and you should enjoy it while you can because it wont last, you cant go back to that.

and that much IS true... but you CAN go back in some ways.

oh sure, you WILL grow up. lessons get learned, fears develop, motor function improves, your body gets taller and stronger, and your brain naturally develops as it goes, that much is ALL true...

but... you CAN still wear diapers... in fact, it almost seems like you're gently encouraged to? cuz like... every store with a pharmacy has a nearby section for adult diapers, they got ENTIRE ISLES of diapers. in every size you'd need.

because as much as society tries to tell us diapers are meant to be left behind, we cant deny that sometimes they are necessary, stores NEED these if they can have them.

and if thats the case... if systems are in place for people to wear diapers... what exactly is wrong with using them?

and furthermore, its probably the ONE holdover from childhood you can always go back to.

no matter how big you get, you cant change one universal fact. diapers exist, they have an intended function, and you CAN use them, if you are brave.

and if you do? you're being a TRUE rebel, moreso than most really. you're doing the ONE thing adults must NEVER do, the thing that potty training was MADE for.

if you wear and use diapees, you are choosing to reject an instinct of adulthood in favor of your own personal rebellious joy, and that is BADASS.

and why shouldnt you? if gender is a social construct, then so is growing up. you CAN redefine what it means to you. you can decide for yourself what it means.

and if you do... you ALSO have the option... to take it FURTHER.

because you know... training like that can be UNDONE too.

not fully, mind, your body now has the ability to know when it needs to go, that much stays.

buuuuut. your ability to hold it CAN be undone.

;3 and thats not even hypnosis, all you have to do is use your diapees! X3 im not joking, peeing yourself outside of a bathroom scenario gives your body and brain permission to do it elsewhere.

UwU and with time... it gets harder to hold it. ;3 how long does it take?

3 WEEKS

3 weeks of continued diaper use is all it takes to lose control.

but why? why lose control? what point is there is making you wet yourself? (or mess if thats your thing. X3 its certainly mine!)

because if using diapers is rebellion, then unpotty training is FREEDOM

its the ultimate middle finger to the training you were given, a sound rejection of the thing you were taught is most important.

and once you reject that... the skies the limit!

do you have any idea how much CONFIDENCE it takes to willingly make yourself a puddlepants?

if you're willing to do that, no force on this earth can stop you. gender? redefine it as you please. fashion? you wear diapers for underwear, wear whatever you want. hobbies? passions? do what you like! ;3 not like bathroom breaks can stop you anymore.

so go nuts! have fun! live life on YOUR terms.

diapers are fun, diapers are soothing, diapers are freeing, and diapers are YOURS to wear.

be free, be a mushtush!

[mattulrichskeetlillard]

Okay so something thats been on my mind for a while: Hank Loomis

I headcanon that Hank Loomis isn't an abusive parent in the overt way, but is just a general, seemingly harmless, spineless loser of a dad. To the point where it's a legit problem.

Like

The kind of white guy who says, "Workin' hard or hardly working?" And genuinely thinks its funny.

Or he'll say "Gosh!" Unironically when he's surprised, or "I'm so forgetfull, I'd lose my head if it weren't attatched to my neck," with a little chuckle as if that justifies the fact that he doesn't know his only child's birthday.

Like he literally doesn't know that Billy's favorite color is red, so he buys him blue bed sheets cause thats a boys color, and blue shirts during back-to-school shopping spree's, and a blue lunch box for school and shit.

You know what I mean?

It's not violent, it's not extreme, its hardly noticable. But it's not good at all.

The kind of dad who's called his son (again, his ONLY child) "sport" or "champ" more than 'Billy' and talks to him about shit he doesn't even know that Billy's not into, like football, trying to establish a superficial father/son relationship that he's not even interested in.

And that, to me, is EXACTLY why Billy blames Sidney's mom for ruining his life (that and he's a fucking misogynist)

Because come on, you're telling me that guy cheated on his wife? THAT guy??? Him?

The guy who finds parallel parking intimidating stepped out on his family? Broke his mariage? Had the guts to have an affair??

No, not in Billy's mind. There's just no fucking way that spineless jag off would have done it. Even could have done it, without cohersion

She had to make him in some way; seduce him.

She did it. It's her fault! That bitch ruined everything!

Anyway that's my headcanon for Hank. I don't hear a lot about other people's opinions about Hank, he hardly gets mentioned, buts thats me.

I have a ton of other head canon's for other characters, and I like incoperate them into my writing, including this one (I personally like writing Billy's micro-agressions against Hank. One big one being that when Nancy left he stopped calling Hank 'dad' all together and now only calls him 'Hank'. Also completely ignores any attempt Hank tries to make to salvage their already strained father/son relationship) it's loads of fun

Pour one out for character study, and complex relationship dynamics. I eat that shit for breakfast

[curiousorigins]

This is true.

I've lived through a good portion of the LGBTQIA+ Movement. There were people spewing hate in a real way, calling for the deaths of people. Please look at the Timeline when people in your locale started supporting the Movement (or at least not caring about it.). Progress is made when people open their eyes and listen with their hearts. And it's awfully hard to listen when we're spewing hate back at them.

I do wish that these people had seen through it all sooner. They fell prey to propaganda, to echo chambers in their online and offline communities... to the fairytale of Scapegoats where all problems are simply the fault of another that once eliminated, supposedly all will be good (again they believed).

They're victims just as we are. Only they have more guilt to face. They have to learn to live with their actions and their effects. Knowing that they could have done more. If they just questioned a little earlier. If they had listened to their friends, their families, etc... I don't envy them. And I'm surrounded by people who voted this way. I am and have many loved ones that are and will be in danger potentially fatally... with these actions. And still despite what they have wrought on mine and yours... I feel for them.

They were sold a lie by people they respected, by clergyman, by media... (Isn't it interesting that the ability to fake a video semi-convincingly and put words into people's mouths became common knowledge right before this. Something that used to be able to be considered verifable proof so immediately discounted by the ability to fake it. Even without tech skills?) that with a few actions, they could save the country... save their livelihoods. (In some very misguided people... the souls of their countrymen.) They are literally Jack and Beanstalk... sold the family cow, but for a few beans. (And not only may their entire community starve a lot of their family and friends will never talk to them again.) And sadly the only mighty stalk that may come out of this, will be through collective action, but only if we work together. This Pro-MAGA and Anti-MAGA stuff is just this time period's latest Us VS. Them argument to distract us from who the real problem is. Our infighting empowers them to pull the rug out from under all of us.

You do not punish people for finally behaving how you want them to.

If they've woken up, it's time to use your hand to help direct them to ways that we can undue the harm. They're another set of willing hands and with a mess this large... you don't reject help on the basis of past moral superiority. You take advantage of the hands your offered to fix it.

We only have rights if we all have rights.

This is an interesting thing. Looks like testimonies of people who left the MAGA movement- how they got into it and why.

Leaving a cult is really hard, so I really respect the people who are speaking from this place.

[cosmiclily]

chapter ten: pretend

wc: 3.3k

notes: i’m so so sorry for taking so long to update, things have been crazy lately, but here it is !!! wrote it a little longer than usual to make up for the time!!

You were probably immune to all things Violet by now. You’d known each other for years, seen each other at your absolute worst—and not just in the emotional sense. You’d been vulnerable, raw, stripped down to nothing more than who you really were in front of her. Literally and figuratively. So, in your mind, you could totally pretend that this new, glaring realization didn’t affect you. Just push it aside and live your life. You were busy anyway—band stuff, deadlines, promotions. Who had time for feelings?

The day after you filmed the video, Vi showed up at your place like she always did, slipping inside without knocking, a bag of takeout in hand. You sat together on the couch, laptops open, going through the footage. Laughing at the awkward moments, cringing at the bloopers, and finally settling on the clips that captured the vibe you wanted. Once everything was sorted, you sent the files off to the editors, wiping your hands like that was the end of it.

And through it all, you pretended.

You pretended your heart didn’t skip a beat when she smiled at you, that little crooked grin that always tugged at the corner of her mouth. You pretended you didn’t feel your stomach flutter when her shoulder brushed against yours. You even pretended that the heat rushing through your veins wasn’t there when she leaned in a little too close to point something out on the screen, her breath warm against your skin.

But the real test?

Later, when the work was done, and you were both sprawled out on the couch, her lips found yours like it was the most natural thing in the world. And you let it happen. You wanted it to happen.

You pretended her mouth on yours didn’t make your pulse race faster than usual. You pretended the way her hands slid under your shirt, tracing over your skin, wasn’t driving you absolutely insane. Her hands touching every inch of your body was NOT driving you crazier than usual! No, definitely not.

But deep down, you knew you were full of shit.

With the absolutely packed schedule you were running on, it was almost easy to “forget” about those feelings. Between late nights at the studio, endless rehearsals, meetings with Archie, and sorting out last-minute details for the album, your brain barely had time to process anything outside of work. And honestly? That was a blessing in disguise. The more you threw yourself into the chaos, the less space there was to dwell on her. On this.

Now, you found yourself crammed into a van with the rest of the band, en route to some studio to film an interview for a popular channel. The van hummed with the low murmur of conversation, the occasional laugh breaking through as Jinx made some snarky comment that had Ekko rolling his eyes.

The promotions for the album were in full swing, and the momentum was intense. Ever since you dropped those duo videos—yours with Vi, Ekko’s with Jinx—the fans had been buzzing. Social media was blowing up with reactions, theories, memes, and a flood of excited comments. Your phone wouldn’t stop pinging with notifications, but you’d mostly been ignoring them.

Vi sat beside you, scrolling through her phone, occasionally chuckling at something on her screen. You could feel the warmth of her thigh pressed against yours, a simple, casual touch that shouldn’t have meant anything. But it did. God, it did.

You shifted slightly, trying to create some distance, but Vi noticed and shot you a curious glance. “You good?” she asked, her voice low enough that only you could hear.

You forced a smile, nodding. “Yeah. Just… tired.”

Yeah, you thought, staring out the van window as the city blurred by. Tired. That was one way to put it.

──────────────────────

When you arrived, a smiling woman greeted you at the entrance, her clipboard tucked under one arm as she extended the other in a friendly handshake.

“Hey, welcome! I’m Maya,” she said, her tone bright and professional. “I’ll be walking you through how everything’s going to work today. Your dressing room’s down this hall—after you settle in, we’ll discuss the schedule for the day.”

You followed her down the sleek, dimly lit hallway, the scent of coffee and hairspray lingering in the air. The room was spacious, with a massive mirror framed by blinding lights. A bright green-haired woman wielded a makeup brush like a weapon, beckoning you to sit.

As you got your hair and makeup done, Maya explained the rundown. “So, we’ll start with group questions, then move on to individual ones. Your manager sent over the list of topics you’re not comfortable discussing, so we’ve already filtered those out. No worries, we’ll keep it smooth and easy.”

Jinx, who was getting bright blue shimmering eyeshadow blended across her lids, grinned and piped up, “I’m comfortable answering anything. I’m an open book.” She wiggled her eyebrows dramatically, earning a chuckle from Ekko and an exaggerated eye roll from Vi.

Maya laughed, clearly amused. “Noted. We’ll make sure to throw the hard questions your way, then.”

You watched Vi through the mirror as a stylist tousled her short hair, sculpting it into an artfully messy look. She sat back, arms crossed, legs sprawled out like she owned the place, but her eyes kept flicking to you. Every time your gazes met, she’d smirk and look away, like she knew.

After everyone was ready, Maya led the group through the maze of hallways toward the studio. The faint buzz of nerves settled in your stomach—not from the interview, but from the familiar presence walking so casually beside you. Vi’s arm brushed against yours every so often, and you swore your heart skipped a beat each time.

She didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe she did and just enjoyed watching you squirm.

“Relax,” she murmured, her voice a low hum that buzzed through your body like electricity. “It’s just an interview.”

You nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah. Just an interview.”

Just your best friend, who you’d been sleeping with. Just your best friend, who made your head spin and your chest ache.

Just Vi.

And that was the problem.

Because the more you tried to pretend, the harder it became to ignore the fact that you didn’t want to be immune to her at all.

──────────────────────

You made your way to the studio where your interview would be filmed, the echo of your footsteps bouncing off the sleek, polished floors. The set was minimalistic — a stark white background with four chairs carefully placed in a tight semicircle, arranged so only the four of you would be in frame. The simplicity of it all made the space feel even bigger, the emptiness swallowing up the ambient noise of crew members shuffling around, adjusting lights, and checking camera angles.

Maya, ever the efficient coordinator, positioned everyone in their places with practiced ease. She placed you between Jinx and Vi, a choice that made your chest tighten slightly. Ekko sat on Jinx’s other side, spinning his ring around his finger as he absentmindedly hummed one of your songs under his breath.

“Okay, perfect,” Maya said, stepping back to assess her arrangement like a painter inspecting her canvas. “This will look balanced on screen, and you guys can interact naturally. Just try not to lean too far out of frame.”

You nodded, wiping your slightly clammy hands on your jeans. The bright overhead lights felt blinding, the heat from them making your skin prickle. There were at least three massive cameras pointed at you, their lenses gleaming like unblinking eyes. The weight of their attention made you squirm, the sensation of being watched settling heavy in your bones.

“Good morning, guys!” The interviewer said. “We’ll start with some introductions, and then we’ll move on to the actual questions. Sound good?”

“Good morning!” Jinx chirped, waving at the nearest camera like she was greeting a livestream audience. She shot you a sideways grin, her blue eyeshadow shimmering under the lights. “I’m ready for my close-up.”

Ekko snorted, leaning back in his chair. “We’ll see if you’re still ready when they start digging into the lyrics.”

Jinx gasped, placing a hand over her chest in mock offense. “Please, my lyrics are art. If anything, I should be winning awards.”

Vi chuckled lowly beside you, the sound rumbling through your body like static. She shifted in her seat, her thigh pressing against yours for just a second longer than necessary. The casual touch sent a jolt of awareness through you, and you had to remind yourself to breathe.

You forced a smile, turning your attention to the camera in front of you. “Yeah, we’re good to go.” Your voice sounded steady, but you could feel the tension thrumming beneath your skin, your pulse hammering against your ribs.

Vi glanced at you, her mouth twitching like she wanted to say something, but she just rested her arm over the back of your chair, her fingers dangerously close to brushing your shoulder.

The interviewer cleared his throat, the subtle sound cutting through the moment like a knife. “Awesome! Let’s get started.”

You went through the motions with practiced ease — saying your names, introducing the band, and hyping up the upcoming album. The conversation flowed effortlessly, the four of you playing off each other’s energy. Jinx cracked jokes, Ekko added thoughtful insights, and Vi... well, Vi leaned back in her chair, her arm still draped over the back of yours, a lazy smirk tugging at her lips every time your eyes met.

It was all smiles and laughter, but you could feel the tension buzzing beneath the surface, thrumming in time with your heartbeat.

“So, for the first question, for the whole group,” the interviewer began, “describe your worst performance and what you learned from that experience.”

“Oh, I remember a good one!” Ekko said, already laughing, his shoulders shaking with the force of it. “Right after I started actively playing with them — before that, I was just the tech guy. We weren’t in sync yet, and during a school performance, I played the entire set off beat. Y/N wanted to kill me, and Jinx kept trying to help, but I just couldn’t keep up.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands as the memory resurfaced. “It was painful. We were playing this slow, moody song, and Ekko was out there giving it full chaotic jazz vibes. I thought I was gonna combust on stage.”

“Oh, I remember that one,” Vi said, her laugh low and rough, her eyes glinting with amusement as she leaned forward. “You were shooting him death glares the whole time, and Jinx was trying to dance her way over to him to signal he was off.”

“I was signaling,” Jinx cut in, waving her hands dramatically. “I did everything short of tackling him. I thought we’d just turn it into a remix or something.”

You shook your head, laughing despite yourself. “The worst part was the crowd didn’t even care. They thought we were just... experimental or whatever.”

Ekko wiped at his eyes, still chuckling. “Honestly, I think the lesson was that it’s better to mess up together than for one person to try and cover it up solo. It only works if we catch each other when we fall.”

Vi nodded, her smile softening. “Yeah. We’ve come a long way since then, but that show taught us that no matter how bad it gets, we get through it as a band.”

“Exactly,” you said, your voice quieter now, but steady. “We screw up, we fix it, and we keep going. That’s just how it is.”

The interviewer hummed, scribbling something down with a faint smile. “That’s a great answer. It shows how tight your bond is.”

You felt Vi shift beside you, her fingers briefly tapping against the back of your chair like a silent agreement. The contact lingered longer than it should have — or maybe you just noticed it more than you wanted to admit.

“Next question!” the interviewer continued, glancing at his notes. “Do you follow a process or ritual before a performance to get rid of nerves or performance anxiety?”

You exchanged a look with your bandmates, a grin already tugging at your lips. “I think we all have our little beliefs. Jinx has a lucky guitar pick, Ekko wears his lucky socks before a big performance.”

Ekko laughed and pulled up the leg of his jeans, proudly showing off his obnoxiously bright orange socks covered in little lightning bolts.

“Power socks,” he declared, wiggling his toes.

You all burst out laughing, the sound filling the room like it belonged there.

“Vi sings her favorite Mötley Crüe song while doing push-ups,” you added, glancing at her with a smirk. “And I do the superhero pose!”

“The superhero pose?” the interviewer repeated, tilting his head in confusion.

“Yeah, you know.” You hopped up from your seat, standing tall in front of the camera. “Hands on your hips, chest out — like this!”

You struck the pose, exaggerating it to the point of ridiculousness, your chin tilted upward like you were about to fly off into space.

Jinx cackled, nearly doubling over. “You forgot to mention you also give yourself a pep talk like you’re in a movie montage.”

Vi leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, watching you with an amused gleam in her eyes. “She calls herself the ‘guardian of the stage’ like it’s a full-time job,” she teased, her voice low and laced with mischief.

You dropped the pose and turned to face them, pointing accusingly at Vi. “Hey, and what about you? You sing ‘Kickstart My Heart’ at full volume like you’re summoning ancient spirits.”

Vi shrugged, completely unfazed. “It works.”

“It does,” Ekko agreed, rubbing his chin. “Weirdly enough, it does.”

You sat back down, your heart still racing from the outburst of laughter.

The interviewer chuckled, shaking his head as he made more notes. “I love that. It sounds like you’ve found ways to channel the nerves into something fun.”

“Or chaotic” Jinx corrected.

The interviewer grinned, leaning back in his chair, eyes glinting with curiosity. “Now to the juicy questions!” he said, practically vibrating with excitement. “Are you single, dating, talking to someone special right now?” He turned to you specifically, wiggling his eyebrows like he was trying to crack you open. “Who are the love songs on your new album about?”

Your brain short-circuited for half a second.

The question hung in the air, deceptively casual, but you could feel all three of your bandmates shifting slightly beside you, their interest piqued. Jinx leaned in, her blue eyes practically sparkling with mischief, while Ekko shot you a knowing smirk. Even Vi, who normally looked like she couldn’t be bothered with gossip, turned her head ever so slightly in your direction, her gaze unreadable.

You forced out a laugh. “Wow, straight to the drama, huh?” Your heart was already hammering against your ribs.

The interviewer chuckled, clearly enjoying your hesitation. “Hey, the fans want to know! Your lyrics this time around are very emotional—people are dying to figure out who inspired them.”

You felt Vi shift beside you, her elbow brushing against yours again. You didn’t dare look at her.

Jinx propped her chin on her hand, grinning. “Yeah, Y/N, who did you write about?”

You shot her a glare, but it held no real heat. “We all wrote the songs, Jinx.”

“Yeah, yeah, but your vocals in some of them?” Jinx wiggled her eyebrows. “There’s some real feeling in there.”

Ekko hummed in agreement. “You do sound hella in love on a couple of tracks. Like, full-on heart-eyes mode.”

Vi didn’t say anything, but you could feel her looking at you. You weren’t sure if that made it better or worse.

You let out a breath, forcing yourself to relax into the chair. “I think,” you started carefully, “that people always want to assign songs to specific people or situations, but music isn’t always that simple.” You gestured vaguely. “A lot of the time, a song is a mix of different experiences, emotions, even things that haven’t happened but could have.”

It wasn’t a lie. Not really.

The interviewer raised an eyebrow. “So you’re saying there’s no one in particular?”

Before you could answer, Vi spoke. “She’s saying,” she said smoothly, “that if you’re looking for juicy confessions, you’re outta luck.”

The way she said it—easy, playful—should have made you relax. But instead, something twisted in your chest. You weren’t sure why.

The interviewer laughed, holding his hands up in surrender. “Alright, alright. No confessions today. But what about you, Vi?” He turned his attention to her. “You’ve got a few songs that sound very personal. Care to share?”

Your breath caught.

Vi tilted her head slightly, considering. You knew exactly which songs he was talking about. Her songs. The ones she wrote about Caitlyn.

The ones you’d tried not to think about too hard.

For a moment, she didn’t answer. Then, she leaned back, her arm still draped casually over the back of your chair. “You ever hear the phrase ‘write what you know’?”

The interviewer nodded.

Vi shrugged. “That’s all it is.”

Simple. Dismissive. But you knew better. You could hear the quiet weight in her voice, the way she was sounding a little too casual when Caitlyn came up.

You swallowed hard, keeping your expression neutral.

Jinx, of course, had no such filter. She groaned, flopping back dramatically. “Ugh, you guys are so boring. If I had a dramatic love life, I’d be milking it for all it’s worth.”

Ekko snorted. “Please. You do have a dramatic love life.”

The conversation shifted, the interviewer laughing as he moved on to another question, but your mind was still stuck on Vi’s answer. Or maybe just the way it made your stomach twist.

Because as much as you tried to pretend otherwise, you wanted a different answer from her.

And that terrified you.

The rest of the interview went smoothly. By the time it wrapped up, you had covered just about every topic imaginable—tour plans, songwriting processes, the band's dynamic, and even a few lighthearted debates about who had the worst habits on the road.

As you stood up, stretching out the stiffness in your legs, Maya clapped her hands together, gathering everyone’s attention. “Great job, guys! This should be out in a couple of days, but we’ll be releasing some promo clips beforehand, so be ready to share them on your socials.”

Jinx groaned dramatically, already scrolling through her phone. “Ugh, more notifications. My comment section is chaos after that last video drop.”

“You love it,” Ekko teased, nudging her with his elbow.

Vi chuckled, shaking her head as she shoved her hands into her pockets. She was relaxed, completely unbothered—as if the last hour hadn’t included any potentially awkward moments at all.

Unlike you.

The ride home passed in a blur, your mind still tangled up in the same thought that had been gnawing at you since the interview.

"If you’re expecting juicy confessions, you aren’t getting any."

What had Vi meant by that?

Logically, it was just her way of shutting down the question—keeping things vague, dodging personal topics like she always did. But for some reason, the way she said it stuck with you.

Was she just playing it cool? Did she actually not want to talk about her own feelings? Or… was there simply nothing to confess?

You sighed, sinking onto your couch as soon as you got home, your phone still clutched in your hand. The notifications were endless—fans speculating, memes already popping up, people dissecting every glance exchanged during the interview.

And at the center of it all?

You and Vi.

Because no matter how much you tried to bury your feelings, it was getting harder and harder to pretend they didn’t exist.

──────────────────────

masterlist - chapter eleven

taglist: @saturnhas82moons @oidloid @vaebear @wicked-laugh @baylegend6 @nomarksonelegance @antobooh @80saturn

[silver-cyn]

A fic for the TGCF discord Valentine prompt - as you wish.

Always In My Heart

Read it here on A03.

Xie Lian loved him. 

The thought still struck Hua Cheng in a way he could never quite put into words. Like a blade aimed at his heart only for a kiss to land on his lips instead.

His expression darkened when he remembered how Xie Lian had come to harm on his birthday last year and suffered literal heart pain over him.

(don’t think about the state preceptor's divination, don’t think about Xie Lian going against all of heaven to save him as a child)

Instead, Hua Cheng remembered: 

“I’m very good at bearing pain. If you’re by my side, I can stand it. If you’re gone…it will be unbearable…”

Before those words, Hua Cheng had been cursing his uselessness all over again to protect his beloved. All his power, all his strength and still he’d been helpless. Just like during the battle with the emperor, just like in the fucking temple…

Breathe San Lang. 

Xie Lian’s comforting words grounded him as they always did even in his absence. Hua Cheng took a deep breath, unclenched his fist, and blinked dispassionately at the crescent moons left on his skin. He shook his hand, and they disappeared as if he’d painted over them anew.

The point was, Xie Lian’s words had solidified like a punch to the gut how much he loved Hua Cheng. It was incredible, unbelievable and more than anything Hua Cheng had ever imagined. Every night he thanked his god for his blessings. One might think he meant their heated moments of intimacy where he worshipped Xie Lian’s body all night long. And while that was true, it also included him actually visiting his god's temple to express his gratitude.

Xie Lian knew him to be sincere, but when he'd heard Hua Cheng's actual prayers and his reasons, his face had lit up with overwhelming affection as he tackled him to the ground in a hug. 

Yet really, how could Hua Cheng not do so knowing he was the most blessed creature on this wretched planet to have the love of his beloved after so many centuries?

Every day was a joy, a blessing, a new discovery, another adventure, another moment in their daily life that he cherished and held close to his dead, unbeating heart.

So yes, Hua Cheng was in the honeymoon phase of his relationship with Xie Lian and probably always would be.

With all that said, was it any wonder that he’d initially missed something was off with his beloved?

Hua Cheng blinked, allowing his silver butterflies to reveal Xie Lian’s spiritual power written into the very threads of his clothing. The simple yet heartfelt prayers glowed briefly white beneath his eyes. 

Keep him safe.

Bring him back to me.

Let no harm befall him.

Sweet. Considerate. Nothing to worry about on its own. In fact, Hua Cheng had done the very same for Xie Lian’s robes. (He remembered Xie Lian laughing at Hua Cheng's atrocious handwriting even as he'd peppered kisses over every inch of his face)

But there was more.

“Good to see you, Your Highness. Hua Chengzhu really pulled through for me in a pinch. He’s a good friend,” Pei Ming slapped Hua Cheng’s shoulder, one hundred percent ignoring Hua Cheng’s glare.

“We’re not friends. I did you a favor. You owe me now. That’s all,” Hua Cheng shrugged off his arm and very intentionally moved to Xie Lian’s side. 

“Isn’t that how all good friendships start?” Pei Ming said with a grin.

Xie Lian smiled with bemusement and a clear question at Hua Cheng.

“Just some boring business with Heavenly officials not competent enough to do their jobs without my help,” Hua Cheng said with a pointed look at Pei Ming. 

“Well, it’s not like I can pretend to be ghost bait myself, can I? I —”

“What did you say?” 

The quick shift in tone was so abrupt, it stopped Pei Ming’s words in their tracks. Hua Cheng had been distracted by Xie Lian’s loveliness and had started thinking of ways to whisk him away early from heavenly business. Yet even he was pulled from his musings at the tone of his voice. 

“Your Highness, it was truly nothing. Just a pesky demon with a particular taste for —”

“Ghosts? And you decided that putting my husband in danger was your best option?”

Pei Ming closed his mouth with an audible click. Xie Lian was completely serious, and the steel in his voice made Pei Ming's fingers spasm. He just barely checked the urge to reach for his sword. 

“Your Highness, your Ghost King’s power is near unsurpassed. There was never any danger,” Pei Ming tried to appease to no avail. 

“Oh? If that’s the case, please use yourself to your full capabilities next time before burdening San Lang with your problems. Is that clear?”

Pei Ming nodded automatically. He looked to Hua Cheng but the Ghost King paid him no mind. His attention was solely focused on Xie Lian.

“It won’t happen again, Your Highness,” Pei Ming said with a quick bow and an even quicker exit.

Once Pei Ming was well out of sight, Hua Cheng pulled Xie Lian closer and whispered in his ear about how beautiful he’d looked telling Pei Ming off and how much Hua Cheng wanted to carry him home right now and…

“San Lang!” Xie Lian blushed and buried his face in his hands.

 

But he hadn’t said no. In fact, he’d swept Hua Cheng off his feet and carried him home after rolling the dice. 

Hua Cheng set the robes aside and wandered thoughtfully around the room. His hands brushed the rumpled red sheets of their bed, picked up the tossed aside scroll and calligraphy brush from the floor.

Xie Lian’s calligraphy stared up at him, beautiful as ever, yet with a distinctly vivid it that sent an unconscious shiver down his spine. The aggressive strokes reminded him of another incident.

“San Lang! Watch out!” Xie Lian dropped in front of Hua Cheng and slammed his fist directly into the demon. The combined strength and spiritual power behind it obliterated the enemy completely leaving no trace of it behind except for its last dying scream.

Hua Cheng stared with one raised eyebrow at Xie Lian who turned to him with worry on his face.

“San Lang, are you okay?" He questioned, taking Hua Cheng’s hand to check it thoroughly. Seeing no injuries there, he glided his hands over his arms, his torso while his eyes inspected lower. 

“Gege, I’m fine,” Hua Cheng tried to reassure him but Xie Lian spun him around to check his backside.

After confirming he actually was all right, Xie Lian finally relaxed.

“Good, I’m glad. Sorry to drop in like that. It was sneaking up on you.”

A blatant lie that Hua Cheng didn’t call him out on, too charmed and awed by Xie Lian effectively ending the demon’s life in one punch.

“Actually gege, I think I have some pain here,” Hua Cheng said. Xie Lian’s eyes briefly flashed with fear, but relief and fond exasperation replaced it when he saw Hua Cheng pointing at his lips.

“Ah, sorry San Lang.  I think I have something that can help,” Xie Lian said. No sooner had the words left his mouth then he slotted their mouths together for a kiss. 

 

It was easy to get lost in their kiss. It was easy to block all the grumbling from his Highness' mouthy servants. Yet, in the quiet of their bedroom now, he recalled that Xie Lian's arms, locked around him with immovable strength and equal tenderness, had trembled just the slightest. 

Something was troubling Xie Lian. 

 

***

Something was troubling Xie Lian.

They had just finished sparring in the spacious armory when suddenly Xie Lian let out a sound of distress. 

“Your Highness, what’s wrong?” Feng Xin asked. He turned to Xie Lian after setting his borrowed weapon aside.

“My necklace. I can’t find it,” Xie Lian patted his neck frantically, face bloodless and eyes wide as his fingers came up empty no matter how often he checked his robes and bandages. 

“The one with the ring on the end? Did you take it off before sparring with us?” Mu Qing asked. His sharp eyes were already searching the room for it.

“No, no. I never take it off,” Xie Lian said. He tossed his weapon carelessly aside to frantically search the nearby area.

“Feng Xin, Mu Qing. Please help me find it. It’s a precious gift from San Lang,” Xie Lian said. 

That guy , Mu Qing thought in annoyance, but seeing Xie Lian so unusually upset gave him pause and the words went no further than his mind.  

Instead, Mu Qing exchanged a look with Feng Xin and they nodded at each other. Feng Xin went to check the display of weapons and Mu Qing the other areas of the room Xie Lian had yet to search.

Time passed and still there was no sign of it.

“Your Highness, let’s rest for a moment before we continue our search,” Feng Xin said, patting Xie Lian’s shoulder.

“No, no, I can’t. I have to find it,” Xie Lian said, not even bothering to look up. 

“We’ve spent nearly an incense time looking for it. I have other business to attend to in a few hours that still need preparation. Look, if your little trinket is in here, it’s not going anywhere. The worst case scenario if you can't find it will be asking Hua Cheng to buy you a new one,” Mu Qing said, crossing his arms. 

“I know it's difficult for you to remember sometimes, but let me remind you there are some things money can’t replace,” Xie Lian said coldly.

As soon as the words were said, he gasped and covered his mouth. Mu Qing visibly flinched and Feng Xin’s shocked gaze flitted between the two.

“Mu Qing, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that,” Xie Lian said, reaching a hand out to his friend. Mu Qing sidestepped him, rolled his shoulders and shrugged it off. 

“Yes you did, but forget it. I’ve said shittier stuff about you before,” Mu Qing said.

“That doesn’t make it okay," Xie Lian said softly. He looked away for a moment, then, turning back to them, he squared his shoulders and gave a small bow.

"Your Highness!" They exclaimed. Feng Xin pulled him up at once, and it was only because he was closer that Mu Qing stopped from doing the same. 

"Please forgive my short temper just now. I truly appreciate the help you provided. My friends, don't trouble yourself anymore over this. If you can, please bear with me a little more, and see yourselves out. I really must find that necklace," Xie Lian said. He tucked his hands into his sleeves, digging his nails into his skin to keep outright panic from overtaking him.

"Xie Lian, what's this really about?" Mu Qing demanded, taking a step closer to him. 

Xie Lian dug his nails deeper into his skin. “I just...I just can’t lose him again.” 

Now that caught Mu Qing’s attention. “What do you mean? Who?”

“San Lang of course. That ring…it’s…”

And both Feng Xin's and Mu Qing’s eyes widened at Xie Lian’s next words.

“How could you be so stupid to lose track of it?” Mu Qing said in disbelief.

"I know. Believe me, I know!"

"Fucking hell! Xie Lian! You need to secure that lock with extra spiritual power. Unbelievable!"

"I said I know, all right! Gods, after everything San Lang and I have been through, how could I --"

“Wait, wait, wait!" Feng Xin interjected.

Both men looked at him.

"Can’t we just ask Crimson Rain to find it? The ring is most likely in this room still. There's no reason he can't find it, right?" Feng Xin pointed out.

“Oh," Xie Lian said, face flushing slightly. He cleared his throat, and his two friends quickly looked away when he scrubbed his eyes and pressed two fingers to his temple.

"San Lang?"

"Why are you saying his name aloud?" Mu Qing grumbled.

"Will you shut up!?!" Feng Xin said, shoving Mu Qing's shoulder. 

***

The ring was found, and Xie Lian’s tension immediately eased once he slipped it around his neck again. He kissed the ring, kissed Hua Cheng, hugged him tightly and then repeated the process all over again much to his friends' dismay. 

Normally Hua Cheng would've basked in delight, but all he felt was concern when he saw Xie Lian's red eyes, pale face and held his trembling body close to his own. 

"Gege, are you --" 

“I'm fine, San Lang! Really!" Xie Lian smiled a far too wide smile at Hua Cheng, eyes closed in near crescent moons. 

"Mu Qing, come with me, please? There’s something I want to get from the kitchen for you before you leave,” Xie Lian said finally releasing Hua Cheng. He stepped over to Mu Qing’s side, not in the least deterred by the look of disgust on Mu Qing’s face.

“What the hell?!? I thought you weren’t mad at me anymore.”

Xie Lian laughed and waved his hands in front of his face.

“I’m not, I’m not. It’s a treat Hua Cheng’s staff made for us today. I think you’ll find it delightful. Take some back for Feng Xin too. Come on.”

Hua Cheng’s eyes followed after the two men. 

“This is because of my ashes?” Hua Cheng asked once the two other men were out of earshot.

Feng Xin nodded awkwardly, rubbing his hand against the back of his neck as he filled Hua Cheng in on the details. 

“What's wrong with him?” Feng Xin asked bluntly. 

“There’s nothing wrong with his Highness,” Hua Cheng said, his tone scathing. Feng Xin's face flushed red, but he didn't back down.

“Don’t be stupid. You know what I mean, and you know you’re not the only one who cares about His Highness. We’re worried,” Feng Xin said, slashing his hand in front of him in frustration.

Hua Cheng turned just enough for Feng Xin to see his profile which, with the eyepatch covering his eye, did an effective job of making his expression even more unreadable. 

“I have some speculations,” Hua Cheng said finally. “And no, I won’t share them. It’s none of your business.” 

Feng Xin was about to open his mouth when Hua Cheng continued.

“Unless he calls for you sooner, come back in three days to see him yourself,” Hua Cheng said and then turned to follow after Xie Lian.  Feng Xin's mouth dropped open, but thankfully Hua Cheng didn't look back. This gave Feng Xin privacy to process that Heaven’s most terrifying threat had, of his own accord, invited them back to his home. 

***

In all the centuries that had passed, Xie Lian had never forgotten the smiling white mask belonging to that faithful black clad youth. The one who’d followed him into the depths of despair and death, and dirtied his hands to fulfil Xie Lian's wish for vengeance. 

The one who’d known him even when he hadn't known himself and at Xie Lian’s lowest moment offered kindness in the form of a small, white flower. 

His heart ached to remember how he’d treated such comfort, stomping that fragile flower into the ground and everything it reminded him of at the time. 

And yet that wasn't the worst of it. 

Xie Lian’s heart pounded in his chest at the sight of that hateful calamity gently caressing the side of Wu Ming’s mask. Nausea rumbled in his stomach and clawed at his throat to see those same fingers tilt Wu Ming's neck to the side, exposing the vulnerable flesh to the blade’s edge in a tender promise of violence.

“Please,” Xie Lian begged. “Don’t hurt him.”

He strained with his all his might to break the chains binding his arms and legs, but it was futile. 

“You said it yourself, Your Highness. He’s already dead.”  That half crying, half-smiling mask turned to address Wu Ming. “Isn’t that right?”

Wu Ming nodded.

Xie Lian couldn't deny his words, he could only repeat his plea.

“Don’t hurt him.”

“It’s all right, your Highness." Dear Wu Ming this time. "To die for you is –”

The sound of the blade slicing through flesh sent visceral pain through Xie Lian's body. It was nothing though compared to the deafening wail of his breaking heart.

“You killed him!”

Finally, that madman was within reach. Xie Lian picked him up by the throat, knocking the other’s mask off in the struggle. When finally the other's face was revealed, it wasn't the face of the past emperor…

 

…but his own. 

“No, Your Highness. We killed him!”

Xie Lian woke up with a gasp.

***

Xie Lian was known by many names.

The fallen prince of Xianle.

The laughingstock of the heavens.

The god of misfortune.

Yet tonight, he was only what he ever truly was – a man, painfully human, weeping in the arms of his beloved over a wrath ghost without a name who made the ultimate sacrifice for him. 

It was a day Xie Lian had vowed never to forget, and never had until that youth returned to him a man, and gave him the most precious gift Xie Lian had ever received.

Heart filled with all his love for Hua Cheng, happiness clinging to every part of him at just being in his presence, let alone being allowed to share a life with him...

…was it any wonder he’d forgotten the day that Wu Ming had died until the day had already passed? Yet some part of him must have remembered and tried to…wanted to…

When Xie Lian's tears eventually dried up, and he'd shared all the words that could be said, Xie Lian sniffled and slumped fully against Hua Cheng.

Hua Cheng tucked Xie Lian as close to him as possible and pulled the blankets over them. Xie Lian eventually fell back asleep wrapped in Hua Cheng's unnatural warmth, heart soothed by every whispered declaration of love that fell from his lips.

***

“San Lang, I’ve caused so much trouble these past few days. I’m sorry,” Xie Lian said. The entire day had been spent with Hua Cheng by his side, pampering and spoiling him much to Xie Lian’s pleasure and Hua Cheng’s delight.

Now evening had come, and they were strolling through the outside corridors of Paradise Manor, enjoying the warm lantern lights and rippling sounds of the waters below the pagoda. In the distance, the raucous noise of Ghost City’s residents made for a warm ambiance that did more to make Xie Lian feel at home than the Heavenly officials ever had. 

“Never gege. You were hurting. I’m only sorry I didn’t figure it out sooner,” Hua Cheng responded, kissing the top of Xie Lian’s head. “As for the others: General Pei won’t hold it against you. And didn’t you already make amends with the Sweeping General?”

At Xie Lian’s thoughtful nod, Hua Cheng hugged him close. Once they pulled apart, they continued walking, Xie Lian twining their fingers together.

“San Lang? I have a request,” Xie Lian said breaking the silence once more. 

“Anything," Hua Cheng said without hesitation, pressing a kiss to their joined hands. 

“Hear me out first," Xie Lian said smiling softly. "I want you to carve another statue of us, but this time...I want it to be from our days together as the White Clothed Calamity and Wu Ming.”

Hua Cheng stopped them at his words and turned to face Xie Lian. Hua Cheng tucked a strand of hair behind Xie Lian's ear, his dark eye watching him carefully.

“Gege, I would do anything for you, but I hate to see you hurt. Why do you want to be reminded of the most painful time of your life?" 

Hua Cheng's concern curled around Xie Lian's aching heart like the softest petals embracing a butterfly. 

“There is pain in remembering, yes, and maybe a small part of me wants that," Xie Lian admitted. "I never want to forget the weight of my past actions, and the price paid for them." 

Sensing Hua Cheng's incoming protest, Xie Lian gently placed a finger over his lips 

"But more than that, so so much more than that, are my feelings of gratitude and awe that my most devoted believer never lost faith in me. You never gave up on me, and even saved me,” Xie Lian said and his smile was so sweet and tender it was a wonder Hua Cheng’s dead heart didn’t come back to life.

“You saved yourself, Your Highness, just like I knew you would. You only needed the opportunity to try again,” Hua Cheng embraced him and Xie Lian clung to him.

“And you gave it to me. I don’t ever want to forget that. Please San Lang,” Xie Lian said staring up at Hua Cheng. "Will you help me honor my most devoted believer?"

And really, what else could Hua Cheng say to that except: 

“As you wish.” 

[illuminatedquill]

Dichen Lachman, Gemma Scout’s actress, has done some interviews in the wake of 2x07. I’ve clipped some stuff I found interesting, along with some of my own thoughts.

Spoilers ahead, be warned:

God, she’s been trying for years. My poor girl.

It hurts to see that this recent escape attempt has finally broken Gemma’s resolve. But Dichen thinks that although Gemma is resigned to her fate, she still holds onto the slim hope that Lumon will let her go when the experiments are over (spoiler alert: that is extremely unlikely).

Anyone who’s seen Dollhouse probably got a sense of deja vu when watching this episode. I’m glad that Dichen shares that same feeling. I don’t know, I just found it amusing.

THIS!!!

“The chikhai bardo is a Buddhist belief about a transitional state between death and rebirth, which could point to reintegration for both Mark and Gemma”

Both Mark and Gemma will never be able to reclaim the life they once had. That’s the tragedy. Those versions of them are gone. Dead.

Mark is reintegrating and becoming something new with the melding of his outie and innie personalities; Gemma, splintered into multiple versions of herself that are exposed through endless petty cruelties and psychological torture that she doesn’t remember, fighting tooth and nail to return home. They are becoming something new.

And I think these two new people should have a chance to find a new path forward. Together. Despite it all, despite the horrors and obstacles and misery, their love still endures. It won’t fix anything, it won’t guarantee a happy ending but it will be a new start. They deserve that.

The severance chips are being prepped for mass consumption. Gemma being put through all these varying situations - which are probably her own personal stressors - is to refine these chips perfectly so that people would never have to suffer again. But that’s so antithetical to life. We experience the joys so richly because of our lows, our suffering. You cannot have one without the other. That isn’t life!

All that remains is Cold Harbor. Ominous name. What horrible experience remains for Gemma to suffer through?

Still convinced that Gemma definitely signed up for something regarding the infertility issues but it’s evident that she wasn’t told the full extent of what Lumon would do with her. There’s more story to be told about how they got to her, I’m sure.

THE ENDGAME: Hades and Persephone

After having a full day to process this episode I am, admittedly, filled with a weird sense of optimism. Although Gemma’s fate seems all but sealed, I think the writers are smarter than to lay all this tragedy on characters only to end it in . . . well, more tragedy. There won’t be any healing or progression for either Mark or Gemma’s characters until she is freed from Lumon’s clutches.

Mark already tried to do that and he couldn’t. The only way he could fall in love again is if he never met Gemma. Don’t forget that.

Gemma needs to be free and be reunited with Mark. It won’t fix anything, I assure you. All that grief and yearning and suffering won’t magically disappear because they are back together. There’s so many interesting dynamics to play out.

The unresolved issues they had before she was taken by Lumon.

And then there’s Mark, fully reintegrated, remembering Helly and his love for her. Gemma having to reconcile the fact that there is a part of her husband that loved someone else.

The half-remembered nightmares and waking up with aches. Endless hallways and rooms that fill you with dread. An elevator that only goes down and never back up. Both Mark and Gemma will literally leave pieces of themselves behind in Lumon that they will never get back.

I think we’ve been looking at this wrong. Mark and Gemma being so tragic and Orpheus/Eurydice coded. They’re doomed by the narrative, it seems.

But . . . it doesn’t quite fit anymore now that we know that Gemma is alive and wants to go home.

I think Mark and Gemma are more like Hades and Persephone now. The other pairing in Orpheus and Eurydice’s story. In Hadestown, Orpheus’ song reignites their love and trust in each other, allowing them to try again after their relationship had become so strained.

So who is Orpheus and Eurydice now?

Who do you think.

[aceyanaheim]

Things that totally happened while Kakashi was in single digits ( which is his entire genin AND chunin exam Kishi wtf ) a non extensive list. With the help of the lovely @tora-the-cat

Most D-Rank missions are doing chores around the village. Do you understand how little muscle five year olds have? I dont care that they're a superhero ninja village five is five. Kakashi totally went too hard on some of the manual labor and just..couldnt keep going. Minato had to cover for him. ( Minato also had to convince him that no this didn't make him a bad shinobi because Kakashi tired and grumpy and five was totally trying not to cry when he woke up and the mission was done)

Kakashi lived alone for what the fuck reason kishi wh- after his dad died this tells me he basically learned climbing things like cupboards to get what he wanted and no he doesn't need help thank you.

After a while Minato got good at just extending his arms and catching Kakashi randomly because Kakashi's "if i cant reach climb it" attitude went with him on missions.

Minato fully expecting a genin age ten at the youngest finding someone Half that age and just getting every book on What Five Years Olds Are Like bc...he's never had to train one? He's never seen one on the field? Now he's on a team with one??? Hiruzen?? He's Five???

Kakashi at least once took out someone at the ankles just because thats the nearest thing he could reach.

He needed special weapons because he's tiny but Minato took to carrying then around because at least once Kakashi ran out of his took one of Minatos ( excuse him for being solution orientes) and Damm near sliced his hand open.

@tora-the-cat came up with this one but Kakashi took too many missions back to back without nap time and had a meltdown on a mission. At least the mission was successful.

Also that a jounin almost made Kakashi cry for getting hangry on a mission and Minato almost ate him. ( This was also @tora-the-cat )

Kakashi adamant that he needs to summon His Favorite niken for a mission and totally didnt pout when he couldnt ( he's Five)

Please imagine youre on a B Rank Mission. Please imagine youre fellow Chunnin is Six. Please imagine he kills with effiiciency and then pouts because he can't keep His dog as summoned on the way back and he hates the vegetables Sensei theyre gross.

Minatos a good soldier a good Shinobi he understands this is for the good of the village and anything for the good of the village is justified but he's still not ready for the emotions that slam into him the first time he has to carry this literal toddler after a mission ( maybe he got hurt maybe he fell asleep idk could be both)

Minato carrying special rations because like there are foods?? A Five year Olds body needs??? You can't just give him rations and pills

Minato had to trick Kakashi tho because He's A Shinobi He doesnt need vitamins ( yes. Yes he does)

Please imagine the surround sound HD "what the fuck" when this tiny ass six year old shows up for his Chunnin exam ( Minato Teaches him a bunch of jutsus every one chalks it up to Minato having a passing aquantance with limits. It is that but also he really needs the reasurance Kakashi won't die fighting a bunch of ninja who are twice His age at the youngest)

At least once Kakashi gets sick and actually acts his age. I need that

Listen I've said before but there should have been more focus on Kakashi being Five when his ninja career started like do You know how tiny Five is. He's Little. Picture it Minato goes to meet him and expects a ten year old only to feel a tug on his pants and there's this barely not a toddler standing at attention perfectly. He maybe reaches Minatos knees. Kakashi garrots someone and then asks Minato if he can please lift him up to wash his hands bc he can't reach the sink. Minato has to carry extra special Made weapons because should Kakashi find himself without his Minatos weapons would not in fact fit in his hands. He has to stand on tiptoes to give ninja reports. He's Five thats Tiny. Someone offered him the kids menu at Shinobi Food Place and Minato barely curved the killer intent by promising extra training. Kishimoto pick up the phone this could have been so much funnier and no less tragic.

[cy-cyborg]

Please remember I am trans/nonbinary, my pronouns are xe/they.

I am starting to get genuinely annoyed with people’s shocked or doubtful reactions to hearing I want to have kids in the near-ish future. And I don’t mean strangers. Strangers say weird things to me all the time lol. I mean my family, my doctors, people who have known me for decades.

My mum in particular has made several comments now ranging from just genuine shock at the mention my partner and I are planning for kids during a conversation about plans for the future (I’ve literally talked about wanting kids to her since I was a kid) to outright saying during a casual conversation that “they (referring to doctors) probably wouldn’t let me carry to term”. Over Christmas my partner also told mum that we had some news we wanted to share in person, and her first reaction was “Cy’s not pregnant are they?” My partner said no and she responded with “oh thank god!”

My sister and dad have also made similar comments. Dad has brought up valid concerns (mainly about some genetic stuff that caused complications for my mum) sprinkled with the same ableism my mum always goes to. My sister I’m willing to give a bit more leniency, since she’s the only family member I talk about my transition with and she admitted recently she thought i was already medically transitioning and she thought that made you infertile so she just assumed kids were off the table. Neither of those things are true but her doubts at least aren’t tied to my disability, just bad info.

But it’s the doctors (and other healthcare professionals) that are the most frustrating. It’s not one or two. It’s nearly every doctor. Every nurse. Every medical technician. If the subject comes up, they all have something to say about it.

I don’t want to go into pregnancy blind, I know I would be at higher risk than the average pregnant person and I want to know what those risks are before I agree to them. I want to know what recourses are available. I want to know how me being in a wheelchair will change the process of things like giving birth. I want make sure the local hospital is equip to deal with that and I won’t be having to educate people while I’m in labour or if I’m better off going somewhere else.

But every doctor I’ve tried to discuss the subject with has shut the topic down and hand waved it with “we’ll cross that bridge if we get to it”. Like it’s something I’d obviously want to avoid that I probably don’t need to worry about. Even trying to get my contraceptive replaced, get a fertility test done or even getting a damn pap smear has been a nightmare. why am I fighting to get a Pap smear??? I’m nearly 30 and still haven’t been able to get one because several doctors seem to be under the impression I’m not sexually active, even when I bring my partner into the appointment. If they say it out loud (half the time they dance around the subject) and I correct them, they are genuinely shocked, then tell me we’ll worry about that later. Nurses and other healthcare providers are no better. There’s been several occasions where I haven’t been asked the mandatory “could I be pregnant” question when going for X-rays or CT scans (and I know they were supposed to ask because if I ask to see the paperwork, it’s always there and they’ve just checked “no” without asking), or if I am asked at intake, they say something to the effect of “I know the answer is probably no, but is there any chance you could be pregnant?”

Though I take back what I said earlier, there’s one comment from strangers on this front that pisses me off, and it’s “be thankful you don’t have to deal with being pestered about having kids”.

No, I won’t be thankful when my reproductive health is ignored, my family are telling me constantly they think I shouldn’t have kids or expressing surprise that I’m even “allowed to” and I can’t even get any answers about what it would look like if I DO get pregnant. My heart goes out to the people who are harassed and pressured into having kids, and to the people whose health is ignored for the sake of them being able to have a baby. Both my mother and sister have dealt with that, my mum almost died because they didn’t want to do anything that would prevent her from having more kids she didn’t want after my younger sister was born. But BOTH things are terrible and shouldn’t be happening!

Im not unreasonable, if someone brought up a decent, genuine concern to me that wasn’t just “can someone in a wheelchair even look after a kid” or “I didn’t think someone like you even has sex” I would reconsider. If it was found I would be likely to experience serious complications for myself or the baby, I would reconsider. If I found out I wasn’t going to have the needed supports to raise a kid, I would reconsider. But everyone assumes that’s what I want. If I were infertile, or any of these things were true, I’d reconsider, but I’d be upset about it! I’ve always wanted to be a parent and if that was something that wasn’t actually possible, I would be sad about it.

But my family members talk to me about it in the same way they did when I was 10 and didn’t know where babies came from, doctors are shocked at the idea I’m even sexually active let alone thinking about children. I’m genuinely worried the people in my life other than my partner would treat any fertility issues like a good thing, or be shocked that I’d be upset if kids weren’t actually on the table anymore.